


Really Bad End

by Axxor



Category: Worm - Wildbow
Genre: Blood Drinking, Body Horror, Brain Surgery, Clone Sex, F/F, F/M, Futanari, Identity Swap, Mind Games, Mind Rape, Multi, Murder, Parent/Child Incest, Pseudo-Incest, Sexual Slavery, Sexual Violence, Sibling Incest, Uncle/Niece Incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-16 22:37:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3505322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Axxor/pseuds/Axxor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is an omake derived from Chapter 18 of my fanfic One More Trigger ( http://forum.questionablequesting.com/threads/one-more-trigger-worm-au.874/ ).<br/>In it, Coil dropped the wrong worldline, just before he was killed.<br/>Very bad things are going to happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

They stood atop the spongy 'upper deck' of Noelle's grossly bloated body. Over them arched a precariously erected roof of rubble, composed of chunks of concrete, rebar, and other debris. Supporting the whole arched roof was a solid construction created from the mind of a Genesis clone, who lay unconscious alongside the group. She was naked, as was everyone else there.  
  
She was, however, alive, unlike the other two bodies that lay prone among them. One was Emma Barnes; the other was Madison Clements. Noelle had sent a Glory Girl clone tunnelling through the mass of rubble, with the assistance of a Vista, in order to retrieve them. A Panacea, skilled in the modification of dead flesh rather than live, had removed the evidence of electrocution from Madison's body.  
  
“The Genesis clones say that the PRT is going to start rescue operations as soon as the rubble has settled,” Noelle told them. “You will be found relatively close to the surface. You have been shaped by a Panacea to more closely resemble your originals. The plan is to pretend to be the originals, at least for a while. After the funerals, at least. Give them time to forget that you were caught up in this. And then, start working with each other. Start fucking with their minds. If you can kill anyone without being caught, do it. If you can get anyone back to me, do it. I will be tunnelling down and away from this base, but I'll let you know where I've gotten to.”  
  
“Our families?” It was the Taylor clone, standing hipshot, carelessly naked. “My dear loving Dad?” Her voice was vicious, careless.  
  
Noelle grinned. “Like I said, fuck with his head.”  
  
A sharp nod. “Clothes? If we're found naked, it might raise questions.”  
  
“I'll spit the originals out, get the clothes off of them. Then I'll eat them again.”  
  
“Can't I just kill her?” wheedled the clone. “I want to rip her heart out and eat it -”  
  
“I know you do,” soothed the teenage girl atop the monster. “Remember, she loves her father just as much as he loves her. But I might need another clone of her.”  
  
She turned to the Vista clone. “You go back to the Wards, of course. If you can kidnap anyone to me, do it. If you can kill anyone, do it. The Piggot woman would be a good idea.”  
  
“Got it,” the clone agreed. She turned to the Glory Girl clone. “Hey, Dean loves you, right?”  
  
The faux Vicky nodded. “Sure he does. But we'll have to be careful; he sees emotions, remember?”  
  
“Right, right,” the Vista clone mused. “We'll have to decoy him somewhere and then kill him.”  
  
The girl who looked just like Victoria Dallon shuddered and licked her lips as she ran her hands down her naked body. “You're making me  _sooo_  hot, talking like that.”  
  
“Which brings us to our last escapee,” Noelle noted. “I'm going to try something new. An experiment. To see if you clones are just plain evil, or if you get it from people.”  
  
A maw opened, and tentacle-tongues deposited three people amid the clones. Two were clothed, and one was naked.  
  
The clothed people were Amy and Vicky Dallon; Amy's eyes darted around as she looked for an escape route. She gasped in terror. Vicky stood there, swaying slightly.  
  
“Vicky!” whimpered Amy, grabbing her arm. “Do something!”  
  
“She can't,” the last arrival noted, putting her arm around Vicky's waist. She looked almost exactly like Amy herself, except that her eyes were deep red. And, of course, she was naked. “She's under _my_  control.” She reached up and stroked the curve of Vicky's throat. Vicky turned and kissed her; lips melded to lips and tongues obviously came into contact.  
  
Amy watched, frozen. She was torn between conflicting desires, especially when Vicky –  _her sister!_  - began to disrobe in front of her.  
  
And then a pair of arms went around her from behind. She cried out, and turned, to come face to face with  _another_  Vicky, one who looked  _exactly_  like her sister. And then warm lips touched hers, brushed, came back, kissed her.  
  
“What … what?” whimpered Amy. She could do something to stop this … but did she want to? The warm body pressing against hers, the lips kissing hers, the hands caressing her body …  
  
“Oh god,” she moaned.  
  
The Vicky-clone kissed her, then bit her gently on the side of the neck. She moaned again, her limbs turning to water. Behind her, she heard the sounds of passion increase as the clone of her began to do with Vicky what she had wanted to do for so long.  
  
“Do you like it?” breathed the clone of Vicky in her ear. “Do you want me? Do you want me to be  _your_  Vicky? I can do that, you know. I can  _be_  her, down to the smallest detail.”  
  
She kissed Amy again, and the biokinetic felt her resistance crumbling. Her robes were already off her body, and she felt her clothing being removed. Vicky – a clone, or not, she didn't care anymore – suckled on her nipple, and she arched her back and groaned. Turning her head, she saw a highly erotic sight; her sister, a phallus proudly jutting from her loins, thrusting it deeply into the wet and willing vagina of the clone who looked  _just like her._  
  
“I can do that to you if you want,” murmured the clone, fingers probing her most secret places. She groaned as her buttocks were caressed, parted.  
  
“Oh … yes, please,” moaned Amy. “Please, do it to me.”  
  
Noelle clapped her hands, once. The Amy clone stopped moving her hips; atop her, Vicky stopped also. The Vicky clone stepped away from Amy's naked form, leaving her bewildered. “What - ?”  
  
“I have a proposal for you, Amy Dallon,” Noelle told her. “I will send you out into the world with that clone.” She pointed at the Vicky clone, who had so recently been caressing and kissing her. “I know from your clones how deeply you feel about your sister, so there will be both a carrot and a stick, to make sure you do not betray me. On the side of the carrot, you will have a Vicky who is willing to carry out your every depraved desire. On the side of the stick, your real sister will remain with me. Call her … a hostage to your good behaviour.”  
  
“Trust me,” purred the Amy clone. “I'll take really good care of her. Until you fuck us over. Then I'll fuck her up so bad not even you will be able to fix her.”  
  
“And if you perform really, really well,” Noelle promised, “after I have done what I want, you get her back as your sister, with that one little thing that you've never been able to bring yourself to do. She will love you as you love her. Forever and ever.”  
  
“What about everyone else?” asked Amy, telling herself that she should refuse to cooperate. “My friends? My family?”  
  
The Amy clone snorted.  _“What_  friends?” she demanded.  _“What_  family?” She waved a hand. “The only one left out of your 'friends' in the Samaritans is Taylor. And  _she_  tried to kill you!”  
  
“As for your family,” Noelle went on, “your 'mother' hates you, and your 'father' doesn't care. Your aunt and uncle see you as just another healer. Use up and throw away.”  
  
Amy swallowed. “If I refuse?”  
  
Noelle smiled. “You stay, and Vicky goes out, with the clone of you. But the clone keeps her under strict control, so she doesn't say a word or do a thing out of place. She'll be just a brain-burned robot. If she stays here, at least she stays Vicky.”  
  
Amy shook her head. “No, she's already brain-wiped. What she's doing, that's not Vicky.”  
  
Vicky got up, pulling her still-erect phallus from the Amy-clone's tight wet vagina. She moved over to Amy, who had trouble keeping her eyes off the stiff organ.  
  
“Ames,” Vicky told her clearly. “They're just helping me see clearly. If they put me in your care, you can change it to whatever you want. But I'm still in here, all of me. Ask me anything.”  
  
Amy stared at Vicky. She was as naked as Amy herself. Her body was perfect; the aura of awe was up, and Amy felt powerfully attracted to her. Reaching out, she pressed her hand to her sister's cheek. The biology was normal; only a few minor changes had been made to the brain, and of course to create the penis.  
  
She could change it back. She could give Vicky back her identity. Vicky, aware, would make short work of most of these clones. She herself could make sure the Amy clone did not impede her sister.  
  
It was the right thing to do.  
  
But she would die in the process, she was sure, as soon as Vicky brought down the roof.  
  
The alternative was to … have Vicky,  _a_  Vicky, to herself. To indulge every last whim she had ever conceived. To give life to every dark impulse that had ever crossed her mind. To find out how good it felt to be  _bad._  
  
To have Vicky.  
  
“Vicky,” she whispered. “What should I do?”  
  
The answer astonished her.  
  
“If you want to be a hero,” Vicky told her, “you should free me. I can kill most of them with relative ease. We'll die, of course, but we will have made the effort.”  
  
Amy took a deep breath. “And what if I don't want to be a hero?”  
  
Vicky stepped forward and enfolded her in strong arms. She felt the long, thick penis –  _Vicky's cock! -_ pressing against her belly. And Vicky kissed her.  
  
She wrapped her arms around her sister, kissing her in return. Her tongue tangled with Vicky's, and she moaned into the kiss. Vicky's hands caressed her, squeezing her ass, running through her hair. She felt the erection throbbing against her.  
  
At last, the kiss ended; she stepped back. Her body tingled, where it had been pressed against Vicky's.  
  
“I'll get her back once this is all over?” she asked.  
  
Noelle nodded. “My word on it.”  
  
Amy turned to the Vicky clone. “Then we're going upstairs – sis.”  
  
The clone smiled, and went over to where Vicky's clothes had been discarded. “This is gonna be a whole lotta fun.”  
  
Amy watched as Vicky went back to making love with – no,  _fucking_  – the clone of her. Strong hips thrust hard, and the Amy clone grunted as each piston-like stroke rammed into the depths of her tight pussy.  
  
Amy pressed her thighs together as she felt herself becoming wetter by the second.  _I can't wait to do that myself._  
  
Noelle watched her expression, and smiled.


	2. Introduction Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amy, with her cloned copy of Vicky, ready for their 'rescue'.

Dim firefly-like bugs, generated by a Taylor clone, illuminated the cave in which Amy lay with the clone of Vicky. Amy was beginning to regret the hasty decision she had made to assist Noelle in her plans, but then, she reminded herself, not only did she not have much choice in the matter, but Noelle could indeed work the plan without her. Plus, there were the benefits.  
  
One of the Genesis clones could create lifelike creatures, but only small, crawling things. However, she could create many of them at a time, and they could cover quite a wide area. She had reported that the PRT was readying for a rescue attempt, barely eight hours after the base had exploded.  
  
Noelle had wanted to wait a week, but she adapted quickly to the change in circumstances; Amy got the impression that she was good at that.  
  
Amy was to be the only original cape allowed to go back up to the surface world; the twin inducements of a Vicky amenable to her most base desires, and the real Vicky hostage to her cooperation, had secured her agreement. After all, she told herself, even those who called themselves her family either ignored her problems or treated her like a villain already.  
  
She had been taken away from her birth father at such a young age that she did not know his name. Her powers had triggered when she was thirteen; so versatile and so useful had they been that the name of Panacea had become a worldwide sensation. Anything that could befall the human body, save death itself, she could cure in a moment; poison, disease, injury, amputation, all was curable. Even ageing itself could be set back with a touch from her hand.  
  
They did not know, of course, her true versatility. They could not know, for she had purposefully not told them. Far from being a simple healer of all ills, she was a biokinetic. Her merest touch upon a biological organism could be used to mould it in any way that she saw fit; from injured to well, from alive to dead, from limbless to whole ... even from one species to another. Had she a mind to, she could even use her power to design creatures previously nonexistent in nature, limited only by biochemistry and physics. Her power told her exactly how this could be done; all she lacked, at least until now, was the will to do so.  
  
Of the two publicly known limitations to her power, one was real and one was false. The real one was very real, and had caused her more than a little annoyance since she gained her power. It was simple; she could not affect herself with her own power. While she could heal every bruise, contusion, scrape, cut, broken bone and bullet wound in her teammates, she could not so much as soothe her own stubbed toe.  
  
The false one was much more insidious. From the moment that she had learned of her powers, she had put it about that she could not affect the brain. Her powers, she averred, simply stopped short of being able to manipulate another person's brain.  
  
This was, by and large, accepted. It was widely accepted that some powers had the most bizarre limitations, even apart from the ever-present Manton limit. So Panacea could not heal herself, and nor could she fix brains; it was a thing. She could still cure cancer, heal any injury short of death itself, and regrow a severed limb with ease. Her limitations - one could not really even call them weaknesses - made her a little more human, a little less godlike.  
  
Except that, of course, she  _could_  affect brains. At a touch, she could read the entirety of a person's body, including all the inner workings of the brain. Just as her power gave her absolute knowledge of the biology of anything she was in contact with, including how to manipulate it however she chose, she also knew instinctively how to fix human brains ... or how to mould their workings to her desire.  
  
She had forsworn this part of her powers, even denying its existence. She had told herself that this was because the power to affect human brains was too much for one person to possess. But if she was truly honest with herself, deep down, in that part of herself that never saw the light of day, the part that most truly hated Carol Dallon for never accepting her, that resented Victoria for never loving her the way she wanted to be loved, she cherished another reason. A reason held dear by that part of her from which her most base desires arose, that part of her which she had kept most carefully repressed.  
  
 _Just. In. Case._  
  


(¥)

  
She lay in the concrete cave, the roof propped up with larger chunks emplaced by several Glory Girl clones. Amy had not minded in the slightest that they had been naked when doing so.  
  
“Vicky?” she whispered.  
  
“Yes, Ames?” answered the clone of her sister.  
  
“I want to know. I need to know. Do you really love me?”  
  
As a reply, Glory Girl kissed Amy, slowly and lingeringly. Amy returned the kiss; she had seen her clone having sex with the real Vicky, and it had turned her on not a little, despite the fraught circumstances. Even the penis with which the clone had equipped her sister had been arousing, especially given the enthusiasm with which Vicky had been thrusting it into the clone's wet and willing vagina.  
  
She felt Vicky - she was thinking more and more of the clone as 'her' Vicky, as opposed to 'real' Vicky - pulling her robes apart, then undoing her jeans. Involuntarily, she lifted her butt as Vicky pulled her pants down, then kicked free of them. Naked from the waist down, lying back on the concrete floor, she looked at her sister. Vicky looked back at her, licked her lips, and then slowly peeled out of the Glory Girl costume. As in a dream, Amy took off her t-shirt and shrugged out of her bra.  
  
Lying beside Vicky on the cold concrete, Amy caught her breath. Her sister, naked as the day she was born, was  _beautiful._  She kissed Vicky again, gasping as Vicky nipped playfully at her lower lip.  
  
"What can I do with you?" she murmured. "What will you let me do?"  
  
Vicky rose up on one elbow, her perfect breasts bobbing at Amy's eye height. She stared at them, fascinated.  
  
"Absolutely  _anything,"_  purred Vicky. "Lick my breasts. Bite them. I know you want to."  
  
Amy leaned forward, taking Vicky's delicate pink nipple between her lips. Vicky gasped as she suckled on it, then arched her back as Amy nipped it, hard.  
  
"Oh, yes, " breathed the clone. "Oh,  _yes._  Everything you have ever fantasised in doing to me.  _Everything._ No matter how depraved, no matter how disgusting.". She pulled Amy's face to hers, and kissed her, hard. Amy felt Vicky's tongue pushing irresistibly between her lips, and opened her mouth to it. They tasted one another's tongues, hands groping warm, curved flesh.  
  
As her hand pushed between Vicky's thighs, seeking her warm, wet centre, she felt Vicky's own hands running over her butt. She thrilled to the sensation, then yelped as Vicky slapped her ass, quite hard. She bit Vicky's neck, and got another slap on the ass for her troubles.  
  
Vicky groaned as Amy shoved two fingers roughly between her labia, into her vaginal canal; Amy gasped as she felt Vicky's hot wet centre clamp down on her fingers.  
  
"I want you, Ames," murmured Vicky as she cupped and squeezed the biokinetic's breasts. "I want you to use me in every way that you can. And I want to use your body in every way that I can."  
  
She kissed Amy, before the brunette grabbed her head and forced it down between her taut, smooth thighs.  
  
"Eat me," Amy gritted. "Eat my pussy, you bitch."  
  
When Vicky's tongue touched her wet sex, she nearly came on the spot; the kissing, the caressing, the nakedness, and (she shamefully had to admit) the opportunity to handle her sister roughly, had all turned her on immensely. She felt Vicky lapping at her flowing juices, sucking on her clitoris, then nibbling at her labia. Arching her back, she let the sensations flow through her.  
  
“Eat my hot wet tight cunt, you fucking bitch,” she growled, the unaccustomed profanity serving to turn her on even more. “Harder. Make me scream.”  
  
In the next moment, she felt herself being pushed back, her legs spread wide. She gasped as Vicky bore down on her, licking and then biting at her clitoris. She came vividly, the pleasure blasting through her, and then she felt Vicky shoving a finger inside her. She clamped down on it, crying out with the feelings as Vicky finger-fucked her roughly, while still licking and lapping at her clit and labia.  
  
“Oh god,” she gasped. “Oh god, yes. Fuck me. God, fuck me hard.” Reaching down, she grabbed Vicky's hair and yanked on it. “Get up here, you bitch. Kiss me. Put your fingers in me.”  
  
Vicky came up so fast that Amy was left flat on her back. She reached down between them, and Amy felt another finger forcing its way between her labia. She groaned at the sensations, and kissed Vicky passionately, squeezing her breasts as hard as she could, digging her nails in.  
  
“Oh – god - “ she groaned, gasping each time Vicky shoved fingers into her, “yes – fuck – me – you – teasing – bitch.”  
  
“I've been teasing you all this time, Ames,” Vicky informed her, a lustful glint in her eye. “Showing you my ass, getting undressed in front of you. I knew you wanted my cunt, from the moment you started rubbing yourself in bed at night. But I was never, ever going to offer it to you. I was gonna make you  _beg.”_  
  
“You fucking  _bitch!”_  screamed Amy, pushing Vicky on to her back, and climbing on top of her. She didn't lose Vicky's hand between her legs; the feeling of Vicky's fingers inside her, fucking her, was driving her insane. She slapped Vicky once, twice. Then she punched her. Vicky must have left her field down, because a little blood started from Vicky's nose.  
  
Vicky brought up her free hand and wiped the back of it across her face, then she slowly licked the blood off of it. “I  _like_ it when you're like this,” she purred.  
  
Her fingers slid in and out of Amy's by now very wet pussy, and her thumb rubbed hard on Amy's clit; she pulled Amy close and kissed her again, then squeezed her ass hard as they rubbed their breasts together.  
  
Amy pummelled Vicky with her fists a few more times, sobbing out her frustrations, then came again, unexpectedly, when Vicky slid a third finger inside of her. They kissed again, sweat making their skins sinfully slick against one another. Amy dug her nails into Vicky's breast; her sister arched her back, pushing up against her. “Yes,” she breathed throatily.  
  
Amy squeezed harder and harder, causing Vicky to buck against her, to drive the intruding fingers into her tight young virgin pussy deeper and deeper, more and more roughly. It took only the slightest application of her power to denature Vicky's skin slightly, so that her nails plunged through, and blood welled around each of her fingers.  
  
“Aaaaargh fuck YES!” screamed Vicky, arching her back in climax. Her thumbnail speared at Amy's clit, causing her to cry out in mixed pain and pleasure. Amy looked down at where her hand clutched Vicky's breast, blood welling around each of her fingers. Slowly, she pulled her hand away, the fingers sliding out of the holes she had made, stained to the second knuckles with Vicky's blood.  
  
“ _Now_  you've fucking got it, Ames,” Vicky told her. She lifted her head and captured Amy's thumb in her mouth, sucking her own blood from it with a blissful expression. “Taste it. Taste my blood. Taste all of me.”  
  
Slowly, dropping spots of blood on to Vicky's other breast, Amy lifted her hand to her mouth. Her heart was pounding; she wasn't even sure if she'd meant to do that. But she suckled her own fingers obediently, tasting the coppery tang of her sister's blood. Perversely, deep down, that excited her even more.  
  
Lowering her head, she licked at where the blood welled out of the five finger-marks on Vicky's breast. The blood was thick on her tongue, and each hole closed as she lapped at it. Then she kissed her sister, sharing the blood. Vicky's tongue warred with hers as they both drank; when she pulled away, her sister's face was smeared with blood, just as she suspected hers was.  
  
That spurred another bout of sexual wrestling, which ended with Amy on her knees, face on the floor, sobbing as Vicky shoved two fingers in and out of her tight anal sphincter. She didn't know whether she liked it or not, but she didn't want Vicky to stop pleasuring her, molesting her, abusing her body.  
  
“Give me a cock,” Vicky purred, “and I'll fuck your ass like Dad should have done, years ago.”  
  
Amy wanted to protest, say the idea sounded sick, but then, she had just drunk of her sister's blood, her sister who was now shoving fingers into her ass. And she wasn't protesting  _that._  
  
When Vicky started putting fingers into her pussy as well as her ass, while licking and biting her buttocks and thighs, Amy gave up, and let it happen to her. The pleasure blasted through her, and she came repeatedly. She would have been screaming Vicky's name at the top of her lungs, but by that time, she had Vicky's pussy in her face, and she was eating it for all she was worth.  
  


(¥)

  
“Okay, gather round,” Vicky told the other clones. These were, in total, Ladybug, Vista and Genesis. All were still naked. Amy sat by Vicky, leaning against her. “They'll be starting rescue operations soon. Me, Taylor, Missy and Amy here will be the ones getting rescued. Jess, you'll be keeping Noelle in the loop with your little clones.”  
  
Vista raised a hand. “Gallant might be a problem. In fact, chances are, he'll be helping direct rescue operations.”  
  
“Thought about that,” Vicky agreed. “Amy here's gonna help us out with that.”  
  
Taylor looked at her. “Can we trust her? She's an original.”  
  
Vicky smiled and kissed Amy; the biokinetic kissed her back. “Oh, I think we've got it in hand.” She tapped the side of her head. “Amy's gonna put a little bit of a whammy on us to make us think we're the originals, that we love everyone, so Gallant's little emotion reading shit doesn't do jack. Once we're out, once we're re-established, then she comes around and kicks us over again.”  
  
“Yeah, right,” muttered Taylor. “Like she's gonna just turn us back on again.”  
  
“Well, given that she won't get any more sex from me until she puts me in the mood again – yes,” Vicky told her. “Plus, Jess is gonna be keeping an eye on her, and if she looks like fucking us over, Noelle sends out another Panacea who turns us on anyway.”  
  
“Should we even be talking about this in front of her?” Vista asked, lifting a leg and scratching her naked pussy.  
  
Vicky smiled. “Amy and I have reached an … agreement,” she purred. “It's better she knows the score.”  
  
Amy nodded. “Yeah. Seriously, fuck everyone else. I just wanted one thing in this life, and if it takes fucking up Brockton Bay to get it, then fuck 'em all. Carol thinks I'm a villain? I'll show her what a _real_  villain looks like.”  
  
Vicky frowned. “Amy? Seriously? Talking like this in front of everyone else? You're making me so hot, and I can't do anything about it.”  
  
Taylor shrugged. “So fuck her. I don't give a shit.”  
  
“Yeah,” suggested Missy, rubbing herself.  
  
Vicky shook her head. “We don't have much time. We need to get ready. Got your costumes?”  
  
They had their costumes. Donning them didn't take much time. The bodies of the other members of the Samaritans were close at hand.  
  
“Okay,” Vicky told them. “I'm gonna do a controlled collapse on this section, so we're close, but not too close. So when they dig us out, they'll find us all.” She picked up a large chunk of debris and crushed Emma's head with it. Another chunk caved in Madison's chest. “So get to your places.”  
  
“I have to alter your memories first,” Amy told them. She laid a hand on the back of Taylor's head, the only spot where she could contact skin. As soon as she had finished, Taylor collapsed, bonelessly.  
  
“When she wakes up, she'll have vague memories of the fight,” Amy assured Vicky. They placed her in her assigned location, and Vicky brought down part of the roof. One rock pinned Taylor's hand to the floor, crushing it.  
  
“Verisimilitude,” Vicky explained carelessly. “You can fix it, after.”  
  
Amy nodded. “I can.”  
  
Next was Vista. Amy indulged herself by running her hand up the inside of the young teen's thigh, to get the skin contact she needed. Days before, she may have been horrified at her actions, but with all the impulses she was allowing herself to fall prey to, this was a relatively harmless one.  
  
Vista was placed in another section, with a rock over her leg that would break it when the roof came down. Amy heard the  _snap_  as Vicky allowed the rubble to cover her.  
  
They retreated to the last small section of their once-roomy cave. Amy looked at Vicky. “How am I going to shield my emotions from Gallant?” she asked.  
  
“Give me a second before your fix takes place,” Vicky told her. “Just one second.”  
  
Amy nodded, and kissed her, hard. Vicky kissed her back.  
  
“We could fuck again … “murmured Amy, pressing against her.  
  
Vicky shook her head. “No. Later. Outside. In a bed.”  
  
Amy nodded reluctantly. “Okay. Here goes.”  
  
She applied her power, altering Vicky's brain. For a moment, she was tempted to leave in the part that was attracted to her. Or turn Vicky into a total slave to her every whim.  _I could warn everyone, blow the whole operation._  
  
 _But the real Vicky would die. Noelle would kill her. Horribly._  
  
 _But I'd still have my Vicky._  
  
 _But they'd take her away with the rest of the clones._  
  
She struggled with her conscience.  _I want to be a hero. I want Vicky to be my own. I want … I want …_  
  
 _Being a hero has brought me nothing but pain. I'm sick of being seen as everyone's doormat, as a villain waiting to burst out. Maybe Carol was right. Maybe I am like my father, whoever he was._  
  
 _This way, I get my Vicky to love, and when Noelle is done, I get the real Vicky to be mine forever._  
  
 _I get what I want, and I get to save Vicky too._  
  
 _That's heroic, isn't it?_  
  
 _Well, okay, fine, it isn't. It's selfishness._  
  
 _But even if I told everyone, suspicion would be on me; why did they let me out? Or they'll think that I'm a clone, take me away too._  
  
 _Even if I was a hero, Noelle would attack and kill everyone anyway. Or if she lost, I would lose too._  
  
 _Fuck it._  
  
 _Being a hero sucks._  
  
 _I want Vicky._  
  
Carefully, she overlaid the real memories with the fake. Taking her hand away from Vicky's arm, she smiled at her. “Okay, do-”  
  
The rock in Vicky's hand hit her temple with carefully calculated force. She fell without even completing the word.  
  


(¥)

  
Vicky dropped the rock, laid Amy down, and then brought the roof down on them both. Seconds later, she herself slid into unconsciousness as Amy's change took hold.


	3. Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Gallant assists in the rescue of the remnants of Team Samaritan, he has no idea what he's setting in motion ...

Miss Militia fixed her gaze on Gallant. "You're sure you can feel them."  
  
Earnestly, he nodded. "Yes, ma'am. I've got four distinct empathic signatures. Not much I can get off of them; I think they're unconscious. But they're there."  
  
"Good. Let me know if anything changes."  
  
She turned away abruptly, the weapon in her hand morphing from a pearl-handled revolver to a fighting knife to an Uzi. Gallant could see the dark tones of despair in her aura, and he knew why; Team Samaritan had gone into that base with four members, two liaisons, and Glory Girl. Armsmaster had also accompanied them, along with a couple dozen PRT soldiers.  
  
Of those, Tattletale's body had been retrieved alongside that of Coil's, a couple of streets away. She had been shot to death, by the gun that they found near his body. He, on the other hand, had been hit by a car and then beaten to death, perhaps with a tyre iron. It was somewhat of a puzzle.  
  
Their best suspect for the Coil killing was Grue of the Undersiders; Tattletale had been associated with the villain gang for some time. Moreover, he had the height and arm strength to have inflicted the damage. There had certainly been some emotional content to the murder; whoever had killed Coil had first systematically crippled him before bashing his head in.  
  
Gallant shook his head. It was best to focus on what was in front of him. Which, unfortunately, was the fact that of eight capes who had gone down into Coil's base, Tattletale and Armsmaster were definitely dead – they had unearthed the latter's body some hours earlier – and at least two more had also been lost. No matter what they found, there was going to be bad news for  _someone_.  
  
“Okay,” he stated. “They're under there, about twenty feet down, as far as I can tell. I don't know how stable this rubble is, and I don't know how badly injured they are. But they  _are_  alive. Please, be careful.”  
  
Gully virtually ignored him as she leaned on her shovel. By contrast, Tecton nodded in agreement. “We'll do our best,” he assured the Brockton Bay Ward. Turning to Gully, he conferred with her in low tones. She pointed and gestured, and he replied, too low for Gallant to hear.  
  
Gallant was interested to note that Tecton was deferring to Gully, despite being the leader of his own team in Chicago; he'd been flown out as soon as the Protectorate realised the extent of the catastrophe, and had immediately requested the presence of Gully, from San Diego. The two of them had obviously worked together before now, given the ease with which they associated with one another. Gully's emotional aura indicated confidence and competence; Tecton was more concerned, but he seemed to trust Gully's judgement.  
  
Tecton turned and walked back to Gallant. “We've got a plan of action. Do we have a green light?”  
  
Gallant tapped his earbud. “Miss Militia, this is Gallant. Gully and Tecton are ready to begin operations. Do they have your go-ahead?”  
  
The reply came back immediately.  _“Has there been any change?”_  
  
“None, ma'am.”  
  
“ _Do they think they can do it?”_  
  
“They seem confident, ma'am.”  
  
“ _Then proceed.”_  
  
He nodded to Tecton. “Green light. Go.”  
  
Tecton returned the nod. “Roger that.” He returned to Gully's side, and nodded once. They set to work.  
  
Almost immediately, dust rose to obscure them from sight. Before they were blotted out completely, Gallant got the impression that Gully was steadying the rubble, while Tecton created a tunnel of sorts. Neither of them seemed to be concerned that they couldn't see. Through his feet, he could feel a constant low-level rumble; this, he presumed, was due to the power of either Gully or Tecton at work.  
  
After endless minutes, there was a pause. The dust began to settle. The emotional auras changed; excitement, then jubilation. He tapped his earbud. “I think they might have someone. Wait … yes, Tecton is coming back up.”  
  
Gallant ventured forward, just as Tecton emerged from the dust cloud. He held a limp form cradled across his metal gauntlets. “I'm guessing this is Ladybug?” he asked. “She's unconscious and she's got a crushed hand, but her vitals are strong.”  
  
Gallant noted the distinctive red and black costume. “Yeah, it's Ladybug,” he agreed. “I'll take her, thanks.”  
  
Tecton nodded ponderously, then turned to go back into the excavated hole. “Is it bad, down there?” Gallant called after him.  
  
“Yeah,” Tecton replied, without looking back. “It's bad.”  
  


(¥)

  
One by one, they brought up the limp bodies. Several PRT soldiers, all dead. The crushed bodies of Sparx and Aerodyne. And the living, although injured, bodies of Vista, Panacea and Glory Girl.  
  
After Tecton brought up the last of the living, Miss Militia called a halt to the proceedings.  
  
“Did you find anyone living below the point where Team Samaritan was?” she asked Gully.  
  
The monstrous Ward shook her head, her long braid brushing the ground. “No,” she replied curtly. “No survivors, except them.”  
  
Miss Militia then turned to Gallant. "Can you feel any other empathic signatures down there?"  
  
He shook his head. "No, none. Everyone that I could feel, before, is up here,"  
  
She nodded, her aura broadcasting sharp grief that was not reflected on her face or in her voice. “All right. We'll seal this area. In time, we'll concrete it over, and raise a monument to Team Samaritan and the other heroes who died down there.” She drew a deep breath, speaking to the news crews who pointed their microphones and cameras at her. “The families of the dead, and those anonymous heroes who were saved, can contact me with their details, so that their children can be returned to them. That is all.”  
  


(¥)

  
“ …  _can be returned to them. That is all.”_  
  
Jack Slash leaned back in the armchair and rubbed his bearded chin. “Well, that's a little bit of an annoyance.”  
  
“What is?” asked Bonesaw, not looking around from her home improvement project.  
  
“That annoying little team of teenage optimists. Team Samaritan. Someone else got to them first.”  
  
“Oh, no!” Immediately, Bonesaw was at his side; fresh blood stained her arms to her elbows. Behind the chair, something whimpered. It didn't sound human any more. “And I was  _so_  hoping to get Panacea as my big sister!”  
  
Jack smiled indulgently and tousled her hair. “Well, I've got good news for you, poppet. She's one of the survivors. Along with the bug controller.”  
  
“Ooh,” she gushed, eyes open wide. “Can we recruit both of them? I can mash them together to make a bug controller who creates the bugs she needs out of people she eats.”  
  
Jack nodded. “Now you're talking. I like the way you think.”  
  
“So we're going to Brockton Bay?”  
  
“Yes, poppet, we're going to Brockton Bay.”  
  
“Yay!”  
  


(¥)

  
Amy Dallon felt her eyes slowly slide open. Consciousness didn't strike all at once; it slid into her head, one slow fact at a time. Memory returning. A throbbing pain in her temple.  _How did that happen?_  
  
_Vicky hit me, with a rock._  
  
_Why did she do that?_  
  
_Because I needed to be unconscious._  
  
_Why did I need to be unconscious?_  
  
And then the memories started slotting into place, all out of order, but the narrative was certainly there. The monstrous Case 53 … the fight … the defeat … being spat out again … Vicky …  _oh, Vicky …_  her clone doing lewd and exciting things with her sister … 'her' Vicky encouraging her to do what she wanted … the plans … burying the others alive …  _and Vicky hit me with a rock. Okay._  
  
_Right. What do I do now?_  
  
The way she saw it, she had two choices. To turn coat once more, to ensure that the other clones never awoke, and to raise the alarm about Noelle. To hope against hope that Vicky could be rescued. To face the inevitable condemnation from Carol when Vicky's body was found – or, worse, never found. Or, worse yet, they might 'rescue' a clone of Vicky, who would turn on them at exactly the wrong moment. That was the hero's choice, the one that she had followed for the last three years. It held pain, sacrifice, and a dismaying lack of options.  
  
On the other hand, there was the course she had already chosen. To wake the others, to stand forth for Noelle, for her forbidden love for Vicky. To have what she had desired ever since she knew what lust was. To tell the rest of the world to go to hell, because the worm was turning. Amy Dallon would have what Amy Dallon wanted.  
  
Carefully, she turned her head. She was in a private ward of Brockton Bay Central Hospital; she even thought she recognised it. There was a curtain drawn between her bed and the next one, but she thought she recognised voices. The voices of her family. All clustered around, no doubt, Victoria's bed.  
  
_Oh no, not mine. Never mine. If I'm unconscious, I'm useless. Expendable Amy._  
  
There was an exclamation from the other side of the curtain; again, she recognised the voice.  _Dean._  
  
He brushed the curtain aside, and came to her bedside. Out of costume for once, he looked carefully at her.  
  
“Amy, are you all right?” he asked. “I just felt some really horrible levels of resentment coming from over here.”  
  
All at once, the reality of what she was about to do struck her. Dean had never harmed her, had never looked past her. That he was Vicky's boyfriend was not his fault.  
  
“I'm so sorry, Dean,” she whispered. Tears filled her eyes.  
  
He caught her hands. “What? What are you sorry about? It's not your fault.”  
  
_Contact._  
  
He had a split-second to realise what she was doing, and he tried to pull away, but it was too late. After that, Dean was hers, body and soul. His one overriding need, from that moment on, was  _Do what Amy says._  
  
“Yes, it is,” she murmured.  
  
“Yes, it is,” he agreed readily.  
  
“Help me up,” she told him. He helped her to a sitting position, and then she took him by the hand. Her power went to work again, layering extra detail into the obsession she had just placed into his mind. He would do what he would normally do, unless she told him to do otherwise. Once she told him to do something, he would complete the task, and then go back to what he would normally do. And he would forget, utterly, the fact that he was devoted to her every whim, when he was not carrying out tasks for her.  
  
“Dean?”  
  
He looked at her, devotion showing in his every action. “Yes, Amy?”  
  
“Don't look at me like that. Look at me like you normally do. And if you see anyone else acting strangely around me, before you tell anyone, talk to them. Ask them if they've seen me recently. If they say, 'yes, isn't she great?', then you know it's okay for them to act like that. And if anyone asks  _you_  if you've seen me recently, then you say, 'yes, isn't she great?'. Got it?”  
  
He nodded. “Yes, Amy. I've got it.” He smiled at her; every inch the normal, everyday, dependable Dean. She had the urge to kiss him, to mark him as her own. But no, it was too risky; anyone could see. And in any case, she wasn't into boys. Or anyone, really, apart from Vicky.  
  
“Help me out of bed,” she told him. He did just that, assisting her with disconnecting the leads and the IV line. This, in turn, set the machine to beeping.  
  
A trainee nurse came bustling over. "You shouldn't really be getting out of bed," she scolded Amy. Pressing a button on the machine, she cut off the beeping noise.  
  
"Yes, I really should," Amy told her, taking hold of her hand.  _I need to work at learning what I can order people to do, and not do._  The nurse's eyes widened slightly as Amy's brain mods went in; it only took a couple of seconds.  
  
"How old are you?" she asked the nurse next; she didn't look much older than Amy herself. “And what's your name?”  
  
"I'm seventeen," the girl replied promptly. “My name's Kandi.”  
  
"Same age as Dean here," Amy noted. “Just incidentally, Kandi, my name's Amy. If anyone asks if you've seen me recently, tell them, 'yes, isn't she great?'.”  
  
Kandi smiled. “Okay, I can do that, Amy.”  
  
“Good,” Amy told her. “Help me get dressed. “Dean, don't tell my family that I'm awake. Just wait outside.”  
  
“Sure,” Dean agreed.  
  
Kandi pulled the curtain closed, and looked for clothes for Amy. “I've got some here, but there's no underwear.”  
  
Amy rolled her eyes.  _Typical fucking Carol._  She eyed Kandi, then looked down at herself. “Would you say we're the same size?”  
  
Kandi looked at her. “I guess?”  
  
“Good.” Amy stripped out of the hospital gown. “Give me your underwear.”  
  
“Okay,” Kandi agreed. She climbed out of her hospital uniform, and peeled her bra and panties off to give to Amy; in the process, this left her understandably naked.  
  
Amy looked Kandi up and down; she was cute, and petite, and blonde. She licked her lips. Doing something bad, just because she could, was a strange experience, one she was not used to.  _I have to ease into it, or I might choke when it's really important that I be utterly ruthless._ She took a deep breath.  _Time for a test of the system._  "Put your clothes back on.”  
  
Kandi giggled. “Okay.”  
  
When they were both modest once more, Amy called Dean back in. “Kandi, show Dean your breasts.”  
  
Kandi obediently opened her top, and gave Dean a good look at her pert young breasts. “Dean, would you enjoy having sex with Kandi?"  
  
"Sure," he agreed, admiring Kandi's breasts. “She's no Vicky, but she's definitely sexy.”  
  
Amy smiled at them both. “Kandi, do your top up. Then you two go and find someplace to have sex. Dean, fuck her every way you can. Then strangle her. Kandi, you want him to do this.”  
  
Doubt flickered in Kandi's eyes. “No, I – uh -”  
  
Amy sighed and put her hand on Kandi's arm. “You consider it a real turn-on to be strangled while someone's fucking you.”  _You really do._  
  
Kandi ran her tongue over her lips. “Oh, yeahhh ..” She smiled and took Dean's hand. He didn't resist as she led him off down the corridor.  
  
_I just told Gallant to commit murder. Do I feel bad about it?_  
  
She thought about that for a moment.  _No, not really. Maybe he'll enjoy it._  
  
Taking a deep breath, Amy stepped forward and pulled aside the curtain separating her bed from Vicky's.  
  


(¥)

  
Carol looked around as Amy pulled the curtain aside. “You're awake? Where's Dean?”  
  
“He went to find a nurse for something,” Amy told her vaguely. “How's Vicky?”  
  
Carol looked back at Vicky's face, beautiful in repose, hair strewn across the pillow. “Still unconscious. You can heal her, right?”  
  
Unbidden, Amy's hand came up to touch the dressing on the side of her head.  _I'm visibly injured, and she's still demanding._  Those few of her scruples that were still fighting a rearguard battle gave ground visibly.  _I'll give her one last chance._ “Mom -”  
  
Carol grabbed her by the wrists.  _“Heal_  her, Amy! She might be  _dying!”_  
  
_Fuck you._  
  
Carol had Amy by the wrists; skin to skin contact was all it took. Carol's eyes went unfocused for just a moment, then she looked at Amy anew; her hands loosened their grips. Amy took her wrists in her own hands for a moment.  _You will treat me just as normal, unless you're under my orders._ “Okay, Mom,” she murmured. “I'll heal her. But first … “ She instructed her mother on the password, and waited till she nodded. “Now hug me.”  
  
Carol hugged Amy, and Amy hugged her back. This was quite literally the first time that Amy had ever been hugged by her foster mother, and she found herself wishing that she had done this years ago.  
  
At Amy's touch, Vicky blinked her way to wakefulness. Amy considered leaving her in the delusional state, but decided otherwise. So when Vicky came fully back to consciousness, Amy could see the darkness lurking within.  
  
“Mom,” Amy told Carol before she could speak, “Vicky looks thirsty. Go and get us something from the vending machine.”  
  
“Okay, dear,” Carol replied, and left the alcove.  
  
“Wow,” Vicky murmured, sitting up and caressing Amy's butt. “Got the bitch queen eating out of your hand already, huh?”  
  
Amy nodded, barely able to hold herself back from exploring the possibilities inherent in Vicky wearing a hospital gown and nothing else. “And I've only just started. I've neutralised Gallant, and we'll be visiting the others once we get the chance.”  
  
“Good,” purred Vicky, rubbing herself up against Amy. “I can hardly wait.”  
  
She wove her fingers in through Amy's hair, and pulled her close for a kiss. Amy did not resist; her arms went around Vicky's body, caressing and molesting her as their breasts pressed together, their lips hot on one another, tongues urgently swirling in an erotic dance.  
  
They were still kissing when Carol returned, bearing two cans of soda. She stepped in through the curtain, and stopped dead. “Vicky!” she exclaimed. “Amy! What are you  _doing?”_  
  
Reluctantly, Amy disengaged from the kiss. “Absolutely nothing to be worried about,” she told Carol directly. “Right?”  
  
Carol blinked. “Right. Nothing to be worried about.” She gestured at the curtain. “Did you want me to wait outside?”  
  
Amy regretfully shook her head. “No, you've ruined the mood now. Did you bring Vicky some clothes? We need to go home.”  
  
Carol nodded. “Yes, they're over there.”  
  
Amy checked; sure enough, Carol had gotten underwear for Vicky. Taking it, she dropped it in the trash. “Mom, you didn't bring underwear. Vicky's going to need to wear yours.”  
  
“Are you sure -?” began Carol.  
  
Amy interrupted her.  _“Give Vicky your underwear.”_  
  
Nodding, Carol began to strip off. Amy watched with a slight smile on her face. As Carol bent to remove her panties, Amy stepped forward to run her hand over Carol's butt, then trailed her fingers between her foster mother's ass cheeks. Carol froze, a whimper escaping her lips; Amy had locked her muscles in that pose, unable to move, only able to speak. And via the contact, Amy's fingers were sending wave after wave of pleasure through her body.  
  
Vicky, already naked, strolled over to where Carol was bent over, full breasts dangling.  
  
“Hot damn,” she told Amy admiringly. “You gave her an ass fetish, didn't you?” She slapped Carol hard on the butt, and her mother whimpered again.  
  
Amy smiled, feeling the warmth in her gut spreading at the sight of Vicky's hand caressing Carol's body. “Not yet,” she murmured. “But I can. I'm sure we can have  _lots_  of fun with that.”  
  
Vicky grinned viciously. “Fuck yes,” she replied. “Come on, unfreeze her. I can't wait to get her home.”  
  
Amy licked her lips. “Me neither.”  
  


(¥)

  
Carol Dallon whimpered again. Amy and Vicky had taken turns pinching her nipples and molesting her body in other ways on the drive home; Amy had made a point of making her nipples extremely sensitive, to the point that even having her blouse brush over them was enough to bring tears to her eyes. But Amy wanted to touch her, to hurt her, and wanted Vicky to do the same, so she did not protest.  _What Amy wants, Amy gets._  
  
She pulled the car into the garage and got out. “Mom, take your clothes off before you come into the house,” Amy told her. Obediently, even though the garage door was still open, she began to disrobe. Given that Vicky was wearing her underwear, this did not take long.  
  
Vicky was undoing her own top as she entered the house. Amy followed; they got to the living room just as Mark Dallon looked up from the TV.  
  
“Oh, you're back,” he noted, then frowned. “Carol, Vicky, why are you taking your clothes off?”  
  
Amy reached across and grabbed his hand. “Because I wanted them to,” she told him with a grin. “You might want to get yours off too.”  
  
Her modifications hit his brain just as the meaning of her words registered on him. “By the way, the password is 'have you seen Amy around?' and the counter-phrase is, 'yes, isn't she great?'.”  
  
She noted the chronic depression and healed it; she wanted him in full fighting trim, as it were. His stamina increased as far as she could push it, as did his muscular development. His penis got longer and thicker, and rather more responsive.  _You love sex. You want to have sex as much as possible. You think Carol is your ideal sex partner, although you'll have it with Vicky too if she wants, and any other teenage girl that you meet._  
  
“Right, got it,” he noted, pulling his shirt open. “Carol, you look particularly fuckable today. Where do you want it?”  
  
“How about right here in the living room?” Amy suggested. “Vicky and me will be using your bed.” She turned to Carol. “Let him do whatever he wants to do. Especially in the ass. You love it in the ass.”  
  
As Amy ascended the stairs, Vicky's naked butt just in front of her, Carol was down on all fours. Mark had her from behind, and was forcing his oversized erection into her very recently tightened vaginal canal; he was grunting with the pleasure, while her face was screwed up in pain.  
  


(¥)

  
Vicky did not wait for Amy to get herself undressed; when she entered the bedroom, Amy found herself being rather forcibly disrobed; clothing tore and buttons popped as Vicky clawed at her clothing. The last thing to go were the panties she had sequestered from Kandi, who was almost certainly dead by now, at Gallant's hands.  
  
Amy felt herself being pushed back on to the bed, as the first of Carol's cries came up from downstairs. Vicky straddled her, pushing her down on to the bed, grinding her pussy into Amy's.  
  
“Fuck, that's hot,” Vicky growled. “He's really giving it to her.”  
  
Amy wrapped her arm around Vicky's neck and pulled her down for a kiss; it wasn't a sweet, gentle, loving kiss. It was a rough, demanding, lustful kiss. She dug her nails into Vicky's breast, but this time only broke the skin a little, just enough to hurt.  
  
“Fuck … yes … “ growled Vicky, humping her pussy hard at Amy's. Amy pushed her off so that she sprawled on the bed, and climbed on top of her. Lying back, Vicky licked her lips. “What are you gonna do … sis?”  
  
The words were a challenge. Amy ground her pussy down on Vicky's, both of them slick-wet with arousal, and exerted her power. And Vicky's body answered.  
  
She felt the penis rising, growing, from Vicky's pussy. Penetrating her, sliding into her. Taking her virginity; she gasped at the pain, but kept it growing. Filling her pussy, as deep as it would go. She moved up and down, sliding her stretched labia along Vicky's brand-new phallus.  
  
And then she found herself on her back again, Vicky on top. Holding her down, leering at her. Her breath caught in her throat, and her legs fell apart even more. “Vicky ...” she moaned.  
  
She felt Vicky begin to thrust into her, and she arched her back to meet it. Vicky was rough, demanding, almost brutal. Everything that Amy needed her to be. She clawed at Vicky's back, wrapped her legs around the blonde's waist, and screamed out her passion as the clone of her sister pounded her pussy mercilessly.  
  
When Vicky came inside her, she felt the almost volcanic heat filling her, spurting back alongside Vicky's cock, until it dribbled out of Amy's overstretched vagina, even as Vicky kept thrusting into her.  
  
But even Vicky had to stop eventually, and she pulled the thick member out of Amy's pussy.  
  
“I'll be doing your ass next,” she promised. “Hey, how about a threesome with me and you and Mark?”  
  
“Maybe later,” Amy mumbled. “Though if you want to go down and have a threesome with Mark and Carol, be my guest. I'm just gonna have a nap. Wake me in half an hour.”  
  
She registered the squeeze of her breast as Vicky got out of bed, and she grinned as she heard the squeal of surprise as her sister joined the festivities downstairs. Carol, apparently, hadn't been ready for a double penetration.  
  
_When I wake up, it'll be time to go and fuck up Brockton Bay for good._  
  
_I'm doing this for you, Vicky._  
  
And as she slid into sleep, she felt no guilt whatsoever.


	4. Shenanigans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gallant faces the music for what he's done, and the Pelhams come to visit, disturbing the Dallons' sexual play.

Dean grunted as he thrust hard into Kandi's tight, hot, responsive ass. Her moans echoed off the tiles as she humped her buttocks back at him, clawing at the ceramic under them. “Fuck, your ass is tight,” he panted, feeling the sensations rising in his cock. He was going to cum, soon, and so hard.  
  
“First time I've done this,” she whimpered. “Hurts, but hurts so good.”  
  
He gripped her hips and thrust harder; she cried out as her ass clenched around his driving cock. “Choke me,” she gasped. “Choke me when you cum.”  
  
It sounded really kinky to him, so he wrapped his hands around her neck, his fingers digging in on either side of her windpipe. “Like that?” he grunted, pulling back on her to drive his erection ever deeper into her asshole.  
  
“Uh huh,” she gurgled. “Tighter. Harder. Deeper. Fuck me and choke me.”  
  
He did just that, squeezing until his nails dug into her throat. He felt her convulsing under him and knew he was going to cum harder than he ever had before. She came first, which was good, and she slumped down, but he was on the home stretch as it was. His hands were still tight around her throat as he spurted wad after wad of hot semen deep into her bowels.  
  
He slumped over her; she was still on her knees, but her arms had given way, and he was resting on top of her. She was so very hot, so very sexy. His cock, still partly hard, remained inside her well-fucked rear passage. Slowly, he realised that he had not yet let go of her neck. He did so, then reluctantly slid his cock out of her ass; it released with a slight  _pop._  
  
“Wow, Kandi, that was awesome,” he told her.  _“You_  were awesome.”  
  
It took him longer than he should have to realise that there were no emotions coming off of her. None at all. Not even the baseline ones that sleeping people emanate. Urgency breaking through his post-coital state, he rolled her on to her side, and felt for a pulse. There was none; her face was suffused with purple, and her tongue protruded from her wide-open mouth. Even her eyes were bulging from their sockets. Clear on her throat were the marks of his fingers; he could even tell where his nails had dug into her flesh.  
  
“Oh, fuck,” he muttered. “Oh, fuck. Shit, fuck, Jesus Christ.” He shook her, rolled her on to her back, began chest compressions. Nothing happened. He blew air into her lungs, in a grotesque parody of the passionate kissing that they had indulged in, earlier. Nothing. Chest compressions again. She was as limp and as unresponsive as the dummies he had practised upon.  
  
_What if I just put on my clothes and left? Or pretended to find the body?_  
  
A moment of thought told him why that was impractical.  _They'll check her for evidence. I came twice in her pussy, and once in her ass. They've got my DNA on file. And those are my fingermarks on her throat._  
  
His thoughts curled around one another, tighter and tighter, as he tried to think his way through the problem. But there  _was_  no way out of it. He had murdered a girl while having sex with her. It had felt so right, so good, to put his hands around her throat while fucking her ass –  _she **died**  with my  **cock**  in her  **butthole** –_ and squeeze until she stopped moving.  
  
_I'm a murderer. A monster._  
  
_I deserve the Birdcage._  
  
He looked at the body beside him.  
  
_If I go to the Birdcage, that will be me, within a week. Fucked up the ass and choked to death, or worse. But they won't kill me as fast as I killed her._  
  
It was a huge effort to dig his phone from his discarded clothes, to hit speed-dial. But Dean Stansfield was an honest young man, and his duty was clear. Even if it ultimately killed him.  
  
“ _Yes, Gallant?”_  Miss Militia's tone was curt, businesslike.  
  
“Uh, ma'am,” he began. “I have a really bad situation.”  
  
Her voice changed; she was now paying attention to him.  _“Explain.”_  
  
He felt a whimper rising in his throat; he ignored it. “I think I just killed someone.”  
  


(¥) 

  
Amy woke to find someone in bed with her. Hands caressed and molested her naked body; fingers probed her recently-virgin pussy, and her still-virgin ass. But they didn't feel like Vicky's fingers. Opening her eyes, she looked into Mark's face.  
  
"Hey, Amy girl," he greeted her cheerfully, squeezing her breast, "want to open your legs for your dear old dad?'  
  
With a sigh, she used their body contact to abate his lustful urgings toward her in particular. "No thanks, Dad," she told him. "The only cock I want is Vicky's."  
  
He nodded. "That's fair; when I last saw her, she was drilling Carol's ass pretty hard."  
  
Amy sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. "Was Carol enjoying it?"  
  
Mark frowned. "Not really, I don't think. She was crying a bit. Do you think we were a bit hard on her?"  
  
Amy put her hand on his arm. "Dad, I know you've got to pretend to love her, but we both know that you matter, and Vicky matters, and I matter, but Carol doesn't matter at all."  
  
"Well, yeah," he admitted. "I knew  _that."_  
  
Amy smiled and kissed him. "Good," she told him. "Let's go downstairs. There's stuff I want to do."  
  
She went into Vicky's room and found her stash of thongs; wearing one of those and nothing else, she ventured downstairs. Mark didn't even bother with that.  
  
Carol lay face down over the sofa as Vicky forcefully rammed the Amy-grown phallus between her quivering buttocks; she whimpered softly as her ass was thoroughly ravaged.  
  
Vicky didn't pause in her incessant thrusting as Amy went to sit by Carol. The squelching thumps of her hips impacting Carol's buttocks were quite audible, even from across the room.  
  
Amy took a large handful of hair in her hand, and jerked Carol's head back; Carol yelped in pain, and Amy leaned close. "How does it feel?" she asked, low and intense.  
  
"How does wh-what feel?" asked Carol, whimpering at the pain in her scalp.  
  
Amy let the delusions fall away from Carol's mind, but kept the control. It wouldn't do, after all, to have her activate her powers. "How does it feel to be under someone else's power for once? For _years_  I tried to please you, and nothing was good enough. So now, I'm taking what I want, and fuck the rest of you."  
  
Behind Carol, Vicky climaxed, her cock pumping spurt after spurt of semen into Carol's sadly abused asshole. Carol shuddered, partly in orgasm and partly in pain. She stared at Amy. “How can you _do_  this?” she whimpered. “How can you  _hurt_  people like this?”  
  
Amy rolled her eyes. “You don't get it. I'm like this because you  _made_  me be like this. You didn't trust me, you always kept me at arms' length because you always thought I'd turn out like my father, whoever he was … Dad, who was he?”  
  
“Marquis,” Mark supplied, running his hands over Vicky's ass, as she pulled her cock out of her mother's well-used ass.  
  
“Marquis,” Amy repeated. “You thought I was going to be like him, so you treated me like a villain. Well, fucking  _congratulations,_  Mom. You succeeded. You made me into a villain,  _just like him.”_  She leaned closer. “Only one thing. And listen carefully. What he did?  _Nothing_  on what I'm going to fucking do.”  
  
“So what  _are_  you going to do?” asked Mark, as he got Vicky down on all fours, and began pushing at her taut young buttocks with his thick erection. Vicky groaned as he managed to force it inside her, and started pushing back at his invading member.  
  
“I'm gonna fuck up Brockton Bay,” Amy announced. “You know this already, Vicky, but Mark and Carol, you don't.” She watched with some fascination as Mark wedged his cock deeper and deeper between Vicky's hot young buttocks. “You see, there's a monster under the city. I'm going to feed both of you to her, and she'll give me back clones who are a lot more fucked up than even I can make you. And they'll be right alongside the idea of killing the city.”  
  
“Sounds like fun,” Mark commented, grasping Vicky's hips and pulling hard on them. Vicky cried out; Amy couldn't tell if it was in arousal or pain. With this Vicky, Amy had found, there wasn't much between those two sensations.  
  
“But why -” Carol began to whimper, when a noise made them all look up. A car, pulling into the driveway.  
  
“Hnngh – shit,” groaned Vicky, as Mark's cock penetrated all the way into her. “Ignore 'em, they'll go away.”  
  
Freezing Carol in place, Amy ran naked to the front windows. Just getting out of the car were the last people she wanted to see.  
  
“Shit!” she hissed. “It's Uncle Neil and Aunt Sarah and Crystal and Eric!”  
  
Darting back to where Carol still half-lay over the sofa, she spoke rapidly. “Dad, get your cock out of Vicky. Help me get Carol upstairs. Vicky, grab our clothes.” Turning to her mother, she made the woman into a virtual zombie, with full awareness but no control over her body. “Dad, once you're upstairs, get dressed. Don't fuck her; leave her in the room.” She paused, thought about that. “Actually, _do_  fuck her. Give her a good hard one. Leave her in bed when you come downstairs.”  
  
Freed of her father's cock, Vicky zipped around the room, grabbing up discarded clothes; Amy and Mark were just getting Carol upstairs when the knock came on the door.  
  
“In a second!” called Vicky, waving frantically at Amy and Mark; they hurried up the stairs, Amy animating Carol's unresponsive body. Amy had a momentary qualm –  _I nevergot rid of Vicky's cock –_ but then she saw Vicky putting on Carol's skirt. Unlike Vicky's normal attire of jeans, it would serve to hid the dangling phallus. Amy just hoped that Vicky would hide the rest of the clothes somewhere effective.  
  
Amy left Mark guiding Carol into the bedroom; as she closed the door, she saw him pushing her down to bend over the bed. Then she was into her room and digging clothes out of the closet.  
  
She got dressed in record time, choosing speed over underwear and ignoring the subtle rubbing of the denim jeans on her still-tender labia.  
  


(¥) 

  
Vicky looked up as Amy trotted down the stairs. She had no underwear that would fit the cock that her dearest-hated Amy had given her, so she was naked under the skirt. From the way Amy moved, she wasn't wearing any underwear either. That made her cock want to rise, which would give the whole game away, so she thought repressive thoughts, of happy smiling couples, of the city standing tall and strong. She didn't like those thoughts at all.  
  
“Hi,” she told Amy. “I was just telling Aunt Sarah how you healed me in hospital.”  
  
Uncle Neil and Aunt Sarah sat on one sofa, while Eric and Crystal sat on the other. Vicky had taken it upon herself to get tea and cookies from the kitchen, so she didn't have to get too close to the Pelhams. Crystal's air of innocent beauty made her want to rip the girl's clothes off and have her over the sofa, right there, in front of her shocked family. But she didn't; Amy was in charge, unless she started trying to do the right thing. Noelle had been very firm about that.  
  
Noelle had also told Vicky about something she hadn't told Amy; one of the other Panaceas, one that specialised in brain work, had made a small change in Amy's brain. If she tried to alter Vicky's brain in any small way, she would believe she'd done it, but it would not have actually happened. Just in case. Nor could Amy kill Vicky with her powers; her brain alteration would not allow that.  
  
So she could trust Amy totally, give herself over utterly to her sister's depraved urgings. And so much fun it was, too.  
  
Vicky – the  _original_  Vicky – had had fantasies about her father, of course. Nearly every teenage girl had them. Most dismissed them as soon as they occurred, or kept them strictly as fantasies, never even considering acting them out. That had been Vicky. She had barely even remembered them, after all this time.  
  
But fucking Mommy, and then letting Daddy fuck her in the ass, that had been  _so fucking good._  It was a  _huge_  fuck-you to all that family love that Carol and Mark had lavished on Vicky-the-original. She considered asking Noelle to release the real Vicky, so that Mark could fuck  _her_  in the ass. And then halfway through the act, let Amy remove the thing that made him want to. That would be pure fucking  _gold._  
  
“Oh,” Sarah exclaimed, when she saw the dressing that Amy still wore on the side of her head. “You're hurt!”  
  
Amy shook her head. “It's nothing.”  
  
“Where are Carol and Mark?” asked Neil Pelham – Manpower. When it came time to take him down, they'd have to take him by surprise. His shield was too much for Vicky to overcome in a hurry.  
  
“Upstairs,” Amy ad-libbed without a pause. “They stayed up far too long from when the base collapsed to when we were dug out. When we got home, they went straight to bed.”  
  
“You should be resting, too,” Sarah told her, putting down her teacup and standing up, before moving over to Amy. “You're a little flushed, dear. Let me see if you have a temperature.”  
  
She laid her hand on Amy's forehead, and Vicky  _knew_  that was all Amy needed; casually, she reached up to touch her aunt's wrist, as Sarah swayed slightly.  
  
“See?” Amy asked. “I'm perfectly all right.”  
  
“I see,” Sarah agreed. She put her arms around Amy and hugged her; Amy hugged her back.  
  
“Thanks for coming over,” Amy told her, disengaging and moving over to the sofa where Neil sat. “How did you know we were home?”  
  
“We went to the hospital,” Neil told her, allowing her to take his hand. He stiffened slightly, and didn't continue for a moment.  
  
Sarah took up the thread. “They said you'd checked out, so we came over to see if Carol needed any help.”  
  
Vicky looked the kids over to see if they'd noticed anything suspicious about their parents' reactions; she was standing behind their sofa, and could grab them and smash their heads together with enough force to kill them both if necessary. She hoped it wouldn't be necessary; she really wanted to fuck both of them before Amy fed them to Noelle. As far as she knew, Crystal was a virgin in every way that counted; she wanted to change that, personally.  
  
They weren't even looking at the byplay with Amy and Neil; Eric was looking at the floor in front of Neil's sofa, and nudging Crystal. She had followed his line of sight, and they were both looking at … _ah, fuck. Panties._  She hadn't shoved them far enough underneath, and Sarah had obviously pulled that pair out with her heel when she stood up.  
  
“Well,  _I_  think you're all just perfectly wonderful to come over and see if we need anything,” Vicky gushed, leaning over the back of the sofa and putting her arms around Eric's and Crystal's necks. Her left hand, finding itself right next to Crystal's breast, took on a mind of its own, and squeezed the breast, hard. Crystal yelped.  
  
Eric, on the other hand, had half-turned his head in surprise, and became a great deal more surprised when he found himself looking down the open neck of Vicky's t-shirt, with no bra in evidence. Inside, in plain view, Vicky's breasts bobbed, rather enticingly.  
  
“Vicky!” Crystal exclaimed. “What the fuck?” She pulled herself away from her cousin before Vicky could tighten her grip, then activated her defensive field. “What's going on here?”  
  
_Fuck it._  Before Eric could tear his fascinated gaze away from her tits, Vicky sighed and twisted, hard. His neck snapped like a twig.  
  
“What's going on here, cousin dear,” Vicky purred, “is that things are changing.” She came over the sofa in a driving charge; Crystal met her with a laser blast. It glanced off of Vicky's protective field, before Vicky smashed through her field, and knocked her out with a single punch that also shattered her jaw.  
  
“Wow, nicely done,” Amy noted. “Quick, get their clothes off and get them together.” She glanced at Neil and Sarah. “Any problems?”  
  
Neil shook his head. “None, but did you have to kill Eric?”  
  
“Yeah,” Sarah agreed. “I wanted some of that young cock.”  
  
Amy sighed. “I'll fix it. Better than new. Thanks for not interfering.”  
  
Neil shrugged. “Hey, you're in charge.”  
  
Accompanied by the sound of ripping cloth and popping buttons, Vicky had gotten Eric and Crystal naked by this point, and had draped his limp body on top of hers. Amy dropped to her knees beside them, and put her hands on them. They began to meld together, the flesh flowing like candle wax.  
  
“What are you doing?” Vicky murmured, watching in fascination. She began to take her own clothes off; Neil and Sarah stared at the penis jutting from her loins.  
  
“Wow, is that thing real?” asked Neil.  
  
“As real as it gets,” Mark replied, descending the stairs. “Amy, Vicky, you got things under control down here?”  
  
“Sure enough, Dad,” Vicky told him, kneeling beside Amy and caressing her through her clothes.  
  
“Great,” Mark exclaimed. “Hey, Neil, want to come upstairs and get a piece of Carol? She'll do anything you say. It's great.”  
  
Neil grinned. “Sure thing. Coming, Sarah?”  
  
Sarah paused. “Be with you in a second.” She turned back to where Amy was working on what was now an amalgam of Eric and Crystal. “Can you grow me a cock like Vicky's? Only bigger?”  
  
Amy looked up. “Not a problem.” She smiled as her aunt began to hastily disrobe.  
  


(¥) 

  
Still wearing his civilian clothes, Dean stood before Director Piggot's desk, his hands cuffed behind his back. She stared at him. “Why is he still in restraints? We've established that he's not a flight risk.”  
  
“It's at his own request, Director,” Miss Militia replied. “And I've viewed the body. I tend to agree with him. It was an ugly death.”  
  
“Few are actually pretty,” Piggot retorted. “As you well know. Gallant.”  
  
Dean's head came up, and he looked at her, his eyes red-rimmed and haunted. “Director?” His voice was barely a whisper.  
  
She glared at him. “Did you kill that girl?” The evidence was overwhelming, but she had to ask the question. “Is there any chance you were set up? Any memory lapse? Anything at all?”  
  
He took a deep breath. “I … yes, I killed her. I, I was visiting Glory Girl in the hospital, and then I met a nurse – Kandi –“  
  
“The victim,” supplied Miss Militia.  
  
He nodded. “Yeah, and we, uh, got to talking and she showed me her breasts, and asked if I wanted to have sex, and I said sure, and we found a bathroom that she said no-one used -”  
  
Piggot frowned. “Wait, she exposed her breasts to you? In public?”  
  
“No, it was in one of those curtained areas,” Dean told her. “So we went to the bathroom, and -”  
  
“Wait,” interrupted the Director once more. “Do you often have girls exposing their breasts to you?”  
  
He shrugged, slightly. “It's happened a couple of times,” he admitted.  
  
“And have you ever had relations with any of them before this point?” she asked.  
  
“Uh, no,” he conceded. “But she was really sweet, and she was really cute, and she let me put it in her ass -”  
  
Piggot cleared her throat. “Yes. Well. So. You went to the bathroom, and you performed sexual activities with her. And you strangled her?”  
  
He nodded, miserably. “She asked me to.”  
  
“She  _asked_  you to strangle her?” pressed Piggot.  
  
“Yes, ma'am,” Dean replied. “I was fucking her ass from behind -”  
  
“God!” exclaimed the Director. “Mr Stansfield, we do  _not_  need details like that!”  
  
“Oh, uh, sorry,” he replied, blushing crimson. “We were, uh, engaging in activity, and she was on all fours, and she asked me to choke her. And I thought it was a really good idea, and so I put my hands around her throat, and squeezed, and she liked it. And I liked it too. And by the time I, uh, finished, and thought to stop choking her … “ He hung his head.  
  
“She was dead,” the Director finished.  
  
“Yes, ma'am.”  
  
Miss Militia frowned. “I have a question.”  
  
Dean turned toward her. “Ma'am?”  
  
“Have you had sex before?”  
  
He hesitated, then nodded. “Yes, ma'am. Do you want to know who with?”  
  
Hastily, Miss Militia shook her head. “Not necessary, at the moment.” Besides, she could make a good guess. “Your other, uh, lovers. Did any of them ask you to choke them during sex?”  
  
“Just one, ma'am, and no, she didn't.”  
  
“Did you feel any urge to do so, when with her?” asked the flag-clad hero.  
  
Dean shook his head. “No, ma'am.”  
  
“But you enjoyed it this time. It didn't feel strange, or odd.”  
  
“No, ma'am. It felt good. Really good.”  
  
“Hm.” Miss Militia fell silent.  
  
“Mr Stansfield.”  
  
“Ma'am?” Dean turned back to Piggot.  
  
“One more time. You didn't wake up beside her, with the vague memory of having … indulged in relations, with your hands around her throat … did you?” There was hopefulness in her voice.  
  
He shook his head. “No, ma'am. I have a clear memory of the whole thing. I'm sorry. I did it.”  
  
“We took all the samples we could, ma'am,” Miss Militia noted. “All of the evidence lines up. The only explanations I can think of are a severe mental break, or a Master event.”  
  
Piggot frowned. “Which means that he could still be dangerous. In fact, the Master could still be in control.” She stared at Dean. “Gallant! Who do you take orders from?”  
  
“Aegis, Miss Militia and you, ma'am,” he replied at once.  
  
“That doesn't mean anything,” Miss Militia cautioned her. “It could mean that he's being puppeted, or that he's been told to act as though it's true.”  
  
The Director nodded. “Take him away. Put him in a cell, close observation. We need to find out what's happened to him. No communication with anyone outside of those who have already seen him, if you can help it.”  
  
Miss Militia nodded. “Yes, ma'am. His family, ma'am?”  
  
Dean shook his head. “Not my family. Don't tell them what I've done. Please.”  
  
Piggot compressed her lips. “Tell them that he's … on an extended exercise. That should work for the moment.”  
  
Miss Militia nodded. “And for later?”  
  
“Arrange for a therapist to see him. Also, Panacea … damn, she's still in the hospital, isn't she?”  
  
“The last I heard, yes, ma'am,” agreed Miss Militia.  
  
“Well, when she's out and about, ask her, very discreetly, to come in and see him.”  
  
“She doesn't do brains,” Miss Militia pointed out.  
  
“It might not be a brain thing,” the Director replied. “It might be a drug or something, in his system. In any case, we can't go wrong by asking her to look him over, right?”  
  
Miss Militia nodded. “A very good point, ma'am. I'll get it done, as soon as possible.”  
  


(¥) 

  
Blood trickled down Carol's thighs as Sarah thrust the heavy penis into her ass from behind. Amy had taken her at her word when she said she wanted a bigger one than Vicky had; the monster phallus she was sporting rivalled Neil's in size. She had forced Carol to suck on it while Mark and Neil double-penetrated her sister's yielding orifices, and then it was her turn. Down on the floor, Carol on all fours, while Sarah fucked her from behind. She sucked her husband's cock as Neil stood beside her, while Mark thrust energetically into her ass from behind.  
  
Sarah was well able to take Mark anally; she'd had Neil in there once; it had been a really tight fit, but she'd managed. Carol, on the other hand, although she'd been stretched by Vicky's cock, was still not able to take one the size that Sarah was sporting.  
  
Of course, she'd not had a choice in the matter.  
  
Sarah could literally feel Carol's delicate anal canal tearing around her as she fucked her way to a massive climax; for all that she was too small, Carol's ass was fucking  _awesome_. Hot, and tight, and slippery, and fucking her with a cock was totally different to being fucked, like Mark was doing to her.  
  
She gulped on Neil's penis, deep-throating it, feeling her throat muscles working on the head of his cock. He grunted and held her head, thrusting into her wide-open mouth. At the same time, Mark's hands pulled her hard back on his penis, driving into her well-fucked ass. She felt him beginning to cum, spurting into her bowels, filling her full of his hot seed. She fucked Carol even harder, her cock swelling with the beginning of her own climax.  
  
Neil grunted and started to cum; she felt his semen spurting down her throat, into her stomach. She kept sucking, kept swallowing, knowing that she'd have to breathe soon.  
  
And then he pulled out of her throat, his long thick cock sliding from between her lips, like a reverse sword-swallowing trick; just as she reached her limit, her airway was cleared, and she drew a deep, ragged breath.  
  
And rammed her cock into Carol's ass as far as it would go, eliciting a strangled cry from her zombified sister, and came inside her. There was so much cum inside Carol's ass now that she'd be shitting white for a week, Sarah thought with an internal grin. And the penis with which Amy had gifted her came with a fine set of testicles, which produced an  _amazing_  amount of semen.  
  
She pumped her bloodstained cock into Carol's ass over and over, as her cock spurted its load of cum into her sister's thoroughly abused asshole. Finally, she had to stop; the last clenching thrust only released a tiny trickle into Carol's bowels. She pulled out, then watched with fascination as thick white semen oozed out afterward, mixed in with a measure of blood.  
  
“Nicely done, Sarah,” Mark praised her, squeezing her breasts. “You fucked that ass like a boss.”  
  
“Thanks,” she told him, climbing to her feet and kissing him. “So why were we fucking Carol, anyway?”  
  
“Amy said we should,” Mark explained.  
  
“Oh, okay,” Neil agreed. “That makes sense.”  
  
“True,” Sarah agreed. “And she's a really good fuck. It's not like she's a real person, after all.”  
  
“I wonder if Amy will let us fuck her to death?” asked Neil.  
  
Sarah caressed his rising erection. “Why don't we go ask her if we can?”  
  
“Good idea,” Mark agreed. “Let's go do that.”  
  


(¥) 

  
Amy, bent over the sofa, looked up as her father and uncle and aunt descended the stairs. “Oh – hi – ungh – Dad,” she greeted. “Wow – ungh – Aunt – Sarah – you – must've – fucked – Carol – hard.”  
  
She braced herself and pushed back hard as Vicky kept thrusting into her tightly clinging ass, their firm young breasts bobbing in unison. Amy gloried at the feeling of Vicky's penis sliding between her buttocks, deep inside her tight young rectal passage.  
  
“Yeah, her ass used to be really tight,” Sarah commented. “Loosened her up some, though.” She looked at her two children, on the other sofa. “Wow, Eric, your cock looks really good inside Crystal.”  
  
The younger boy, on top of his sister, looked up from thrusting between her slickly lubricated labia to answer his mother. “Actually, mom, it's me, Crystal.”  
  
“Wait, what?” Neil asked. “Amy, did you do what I think you just did?”  
  
Amy didn't answer for a moment, shuddering as Vicky's pounding cock drove her into another climax. Then she opened her eyes and looked at her uncle. “Yeah – I – swapped – their – brains.” She arched her back as Vicky came inside her, and blasted through another orgasm herself. Slumping down on the sofa, she felt Vicky's flaccid cock slide out of her ass. Her eyes closed again, only to fly open again as she felt a penis pressing at the entrance to her pussy. Looking around, she saw Sarah there, her cock erect and urgent.  
  
With a sigh, Amy hitched up her ass a little, to allow Sarah better access.  _She just raped Carol. The least I can do is let her fuck me as a reward._  
  
As her aunt's erection pushed into her, she subtly sized it down a little, so as to be able to fit it into her pussy.  _At least she didn't go straight for my ass._  She closed her eyes, willing to let Sarah have her way.  _I can just pretend it's Vicky._  
  
As Sarah began to thrust into her, noises arose which seemed to indicate complicated sexual shenanigans between Mark, Neil, Crystal/Eric, Eric/Crystal and Vicky. Amy didn't care; all she cared about, right at that second, was her next orgasm.  
  
_Brockton Bay can wait a little bit longer._


	5. Getting Down to Business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amy finally gets the ball rolling, but there's a sudden and unexpected problem ...

Carol lay on her back in the middle of the living room floor, her legs wide open. She was naked, of course; her chest heaved as she panted for breath. She had just been fucked, in succession, by everyone present – Amy had gifted Crystal with a suitably proportioned penis for the occasion – after Amy healed her body but took away her ability to feel sexual pleasure. White cum oozed from both of her orifices, and painted her face. More was on the way; currently, everyone but Amy was standing around her, masturbating over her prone figure.  
  
“Now, see, Mom,” Vicky told her, her hand stroking up and down her rigid member, “if you'd just treated Amy all right, this would never have happened.”  
  
Amy put her arms around Vicky from behind, cupping and squeezing her breasts; her stroking action quickened.  
  
“She's right, you know, honey,” Mark informed Carol, ogling Vicky and Crystal, licking his lips as Crystal stroked Eric's cock, while Eric returned the favour. “I love you, but you're a fucking bitch. So this is all your fault.”  
  
Amy wasn't quite sure how to think of Eric and Crystal now that she had swapped their brains; however, Eric seemed to enjoy being in a girl's body, and Crystal had taken to having a cock with gratifying ease. Eric-in-Crystal's-body had opened her legs for her father and her uncle once Crystal-in-Eric's-body had finished cumming inside her hot tight pussy. She had even bent over the sofa so that Mark could slide his cock between her buttocks, and fuck her to a screaming orgasm.  
  
Crystal had wanted to fuck Amy with Eric's cock after Aunt Sarah had filled her with her cum, but Amy had declined; however, Vicky was willing, so the two of them went at it with a will.  
  
And then they had brought Carol downstairs and subjected her to a new round of rape and humiliation. As per Amy's brain adjustments, everyone there considered her to be not really a person; she was a thing, an object, something to fuck and cause pain to, if they felt like it. And, also due to Amy, they didn't really like her, so pain was caused. Amy made sure that Carol was aware of everything that happened, but that she was never quite able to access her powers. They were  _there_ , just locked away from her.  
  
And Amy watched what happened to her, and enjoyed every last second of it.  
  
However, no matter how important Amy's issues were to her, they were wasting time. Noelle wanted Brockton Bay ruined, and Amy wanted the real Vicky to hold and love forever, and so they had to get this show on the road. So Amy strolled around the circle, touching each person in turn; as she did so, she caused them to ejaculate, copiously and repeatedly, all over Carol's recumbent body. She let Vicky go last; the blonde aimed her stream of white semen so that it splattered all over Carol's face and tits.  
  
Once the last droplet had oozed from the last cock, the biokinetic clapped her hands. “Okay, everyone. Time to move along. I've told you what's happening next, so let's get to it. Carol, you're a fucking mess. Go get showered. Vicky, Eric, Sarah, I need to put your cocks away. Everyone, clothes. I want to be done and out the door in half an hour.”  
  
Of course, it took more like an hour. They only had the one shower, and it took a while for everyone to use it. And then, of course, Mark and Neil dragged Carol into the bedroom and took turns on her all over again. So Amy had to heal her, again, including some internal injuries and broken bones; Neil had gotten quite violent this time. Meanwhile, downstairs, (Crystal) was fucking (Eric). Again. Since the swap, those two just couldn't get enough of each other.  
  
But eventually, she managed to get everyone separated long enough to get dressed, and they were ready to go.  
  
“Neil,” Amy instructed her uncle, “you follow our car, all right? I'll let you know what to do when we get there.”  
  
Each of them climbed into their respective cars; Vicky and Amy got into the back seat, while Carol sat, shivering slightly, in the passenger seat. Mark drove, of course.  
  
They hadn't gotten out of the driveway before Vicky was molesting her; she began molesting Vicky right back, of course. Vicky knew how to excite her; before long, she had Amy's panties off – she was wearing a skirt – and had two fingers up inside Amy's very wet pussy. For Amy's part, she had Vicky's jeans at half-mast, and three fingers in her pussy, with another two in her ass.  
  
“Where to, Amy?” asked Mark, ogling their antics in the back seat.  
  
Amy paused long enough to think. “North. Windermere and Stannis. And eyes on the road.”  
  
“Right.” He put the car in gear and started off. Amy lay back on the seat and let Vicky push her top up and maul her breasts.  
  
“Can I have my cock back?” Vicky groaned in her ear.  
  
“After we're done here,” she promised, shuddering as Vicky squeezed her breasts and pinched her nipples. Much more of this, and she'd give in anyway.  
  


(Y)

  
By the time they got there, Amy  _had_  given in; she was sprawled face-down over the car seat while Vicky drove the thick cock Amy had given her into her tingling ass from behind. They were both so into it that Mark had to open the car door and ask them when they would be ready to continue. Amy arched her back with a toe-curling orgasm, then triggered Vicky's as well; the rampant penis spurted wad after wad of semen deep into her bowels.  
  
Shakily, Amy climbed out of the car; Vicky handed her panties out to her, and she pulled them on. Doing her jeans up, Vicky climbed out after her; she had trouble fitting her cock away until Amy put a hand on her arm and made it retract into her body.  
  
“So where to now?” asked Neil. He was standing beside (Eric), caressing her rounded ass; she wasn't protesting.  
  
“That building over there,” Amy told him, pointing. “Go inside, take your clothes off, go downstairs. You'll be met at the bottom, and taken to meet Noelle. When you're cloned, go back home. Act like nothing's wrong, at least in public. If you cross paths with any independents, or if you capture any villains, bring them back here. The password if you think someone is one of mine is “Have you seen Amy recently?” The counterphrase is “Yes, isn't she great?”  
  
Sarah moved up to her. “Aren't you coming down with us?”  
  
Amy shook her head. “Got a call a little while ago. Gallant killed someone, so he's in Master/Stranger lockdown. They want me to check him over.”  
  
“Gallant  _killed_  someone?” she asked. “Is he one of yours?”  
  
Amy nodded. “Yeah. I told him to do it, to see if he would. Apparently he would.”  
  
Sarah smiled and kissed her; it was not an aunt-to-niece kiss. At the same time, she fondled Amy's breasts. Amy returned the favour, pinching her nipples. “If I could fuck you one more time … “ Sarah breathed.  
  
“Once your clone comes back, I'll think about it,” Amy told her. “And after all this is over … well, we're going to need to repopulate Brockton Bay  _somehow.”_  
  
Sarah smiled again, and led the way toward the building. Carol was reluctant; her body was following Amy's orders, but her brain was screaming at her to stop. Amy knew it was; she had made sure of it. Mark and Neil flanked her, moving her along, step by step. As Carol reached the entrance to the building, terror made her bladder cut loose, and urine trickled down her leg and all over the front step. And then she was gone.  
  
Amy turned to Vicky and smiled. “Shall we get down to business?”  
  


(Y)

  
Vicky wanted to find out what sex while flying was like; Amy thought it sounded unsafe, so they didn't try. But Vicky whined so much that they had to stop on a rooftop halfway to the PRT building. After Amy grew Vicky's cock back, she quite literally ripped Amy's panties off and rammed her freshly regrown cock into Amy's (admittedly very wet) pussy. Amy didn't complain; having her clothes torn from her body was a definite turn-on.  
  
She came over and over as Vicky fucked her hard and fast in doggy-style, her cock driving deep into Amy's tight wet pussy.  _If only we could have done this before the whole Noelle thing … but no. Vicky had to be Vicky, and Carol had to be Carol._  
  
Her pussy felt positively bruised by the time Vicky let out a strangled cry and came inside her; her penis deposited yet another load of cum, deep inside Amy's belly. She slumped atop Amy's back, gasping for breath.  
  
“Fuck, Ames,” she giggled. “Fucking you outside like this is even better than in a bed.”  
  
“Yeah,” Amy agreed as the penis slid out of her well-fucked pussy. “We're going to have to do a lot more of it. But right now, we have the Wards to deal with.”  
  
“Right,” Vicky replied with a nod, standing and pulling her jeans up.  
  
Amy surveyed her ruined panties with a frown; Vicky in a hurry was hard on underwear. “Could I borrow your panties?” she asked.  
  
Vicky rolled her eyes. “Okay, fine,” she agreed, stripping out of her jeans and pulling down her panties. Naked from the waist down, with her cock once more retracted, she just looked plain hot.  
  
“What?” she asked, when she realised Amy was staring at her.  
  
“I wish I had a cock so I could fuck your pussy and ass as hard as you've been fucking mine,” Amy told her candidly, pulling on the panties.  
  
“Maybe you can go and get a clone to grow you one,” Vicky suggested.  
  
Amy smiled slowly. “If we got a clone to move in with us, and I changed her looks, she could modify me any way I liked, and vice versa.”  
  
Vicky licked her lips. “I like the way you think. Should we go back?”  
  
Amy shook her head. “Later. Right now, we have shit to do.”  
  


(Y)

  
They landed on the roof of the PRT building. Amy nodded to the guard on the way in; she and Vicky both flashed their permanent Visitor ID cards. They were escorted to the Director's office.  
  
“Panacea, Glory Girl,” Piggot greeted them. She looked harried; then again, she always looked harried.  
  
“Director,” Amy replied. “Something happened with Gallant?”  
  
She nodded, a look of distaste crossing her face. “I believe he was visiting you two in the hospital when he met a young trainee nurse. They, uh, went somewhere to be private. She ended up dead. I'm trying to get to the bottom of the matter, but it's not easy.” She looked at the both of them hopefully. “Can you clear this up in any way?”  
  
Vicky shook her head. “He wasn't there when I woke up.”  
  
“I seem to recall him looking in just as I was getting up,” Amy told the Director. “He was helping me get out of bed, and a nurse came over. They started talking, and then they went off together. I can't remember much apart from that; Amy was fairly groggy.”  
  
Piggot frowned. “Damn. That doesn't give us much to work on. We've interviewed hospital staff, and some recall seeing him going off with the dead girl, but nothing apart from that.”  
  
“So what's happening to him now?” Amy asked.  
  
“He's in Master/Stranger lockdown,” Piggot explained. “If you could, would you be able to make sure it's actually him, and see if he's under the influence of any mind-altering substances or effects? Our best tests have turned up nothing, but … “ she gestured to Amy.  
  
Amy shrugged. “Sure. And I understand Vista's injured? I could fix that too, while I'm here.”  
  
Piggot nodded. “That would be good. Also, you did meet Ladybug's father, right?”  
  
“Danny Hebert, yes,” Amy replied.  _The father of the girl who tried to murder me._  
  
“Good, good,” the Director agreed. “She apparently woke up a little while ago, but her hand is crushed. If you could visit him too … ?”  
  
“Sure,” Amy responded.  _Certainly, Director Piggot. I'm not even a fucking Ward, but I'll run around fixing people for you._  
  
The Director seemed to pick up something of that thought, because she frowned slightly. “Are you all right, Panacea?”  
  
Amy constructed a smile. “Sure. I'm fine. I'll go down and see Gallant straight away.” She held out her hand to shake. “I'll let you know what I find out.”  
  
Piggot automatically shook her hand; Amy felt the contact click in, and she froze the Director in place. She had already worked out the changes she wanted to make, and she implemented them, one by one. It only took a few seconds.  
  
“I'll let you know what I find out,” she repeated, shaking Piggot's hand as she released the older woman from the effects of her power. She had erased the woman's short-term memory for those few seconds, so to Piggot, it was the first time she had heard that phrase.  
  
“I appreciate it,” the Director told her, releasing her hand. But the words were perfunctory, and before the door even closed behind them, the Director was sitting down to her paperwork once more.  
  
The seeds of her destruction had been planted, even if she didn't know it.  
  


(Y)

  
Along with a PRT guard, Amy and Vicky rode the lift down to the prison level. Vicky was obviously itching to know what Amy had done to the Director, but she had to keep quiet. Amy smiled to herself; the malignant, manipulative, cape-hating  _bitch_  would soon be out of the way.  
  
The guard swiped them through the checkpoint, then accompanied them to where Gallant sat despondently in a cell. The outer wall was a sheet of perspex, pierced for ventilation.  
  
From the moment she stepped into the elevator with the guard, Amy had been shedding carefully-designed prions. The PRT building had sensors for gas and other noxious substances, but these prions were designed to go inert after a few yards. However, the guard had been close enough to inhale them. Once in the blood-stream, they went straight to the brain, and reduced critical faculties to a minimum. Vicky, of course, was immune.  
  
“I'm going to need you to open your faceplate for me,” she told the guard. He did so; the prions were only so good. Telling the guard to go against orders would be difficult to carry out.  
  
But once she had access to his face, she reached up and achieved skin contact. Seconds later, he was hers to order around.  
  
“Go back to the security station,” she told him. “Turn off recording for this cell, then open the cell. I'll tell you when to close it. And forget that I gave you this order.”  
  
He nodded. “Yes, ma'am.”  
  
As he hurried out of sight, Vicky turned to her. “I thought we were going to have access to Gallant anyway?”  
  
Amy grinned. “Watch and learn.”  
  
The camera light winked off; the perspex slid open. Gallant, wearing an orange jumpsuit, stood as they entered the cell.  
  
“So,” Vicky told him brightly. “I hear you fucked a girl up the ass and choked her to death. Kinky.”  
  
He put his hand over his eyes. “I am so, so sorry, Vicky. I never meant to -”  
  
“Oh, shut the fuck up,” Amy told him irritably. “Sit down so we can help you escape. Vicky, pull up your t-shirt. I need access to your belly.”  
  
Dean sat; Vicky pulled her shirt up. Amy took a deep breath and pushed her fingers into Vicky's stomach, pulling apart the muscular wall. Intestines began to spill out; Amy pushed them back in, made them stick together, lifted them. She unzipped Vicky's stomach wall some more, sealing off blood vessels as she went.  
  
“Hold this,” she told Vicky; fascinated, the blonde took hold of the mass of intestines, peering into her own stomach cavity.  
  
“Fuck,” she murmured. “This is really fucking kinky. And hot.”  
  
“We can do it again sometime if you want,” Amy told her.  
  
Vicky licked her lips. “Oh yes.”  
  
Amy nodded. “Okay then. Now, hold still.” She reached into the cavity and pulled Vicky's uterus free with a wet  _plop_ , followed by her entire colon. Each part sealed as it pulled free of her body. Amy laid them on the bench beside Dean, who was watching her curiously.  
  
“Shouldn't there be blood?” he asked.  
  
Amy shook her head. “You only get blood in surgery, where blood vessels are cut. This is all clean.”  
  
“What next?” asked Dean.  
  
Amy smiled, put a hand on each side of his head, and lifted the top of his skull off. He went still and staring as she put it down, then carefully lifted his entire brain out of his head. She turned and placed it into the cavity she had made in Vicky's stomach, then carefully zipped up the hole she had opened in her sister's belly. When she was finished, there was barely a bulge to be seen.  
  
“Well, fuck,” Vicky muttered. “And he won't die in there?”  
  
Amy shook her head. “I connected up blood vessels to keep oxygen going to him, and cool him down. You'll feel chilly until I get him out of there.”  
  
Vicky shivered. “No shit. Now, what do we do with this?” She pointed at the body, still sitting on the bench.  
  
For an answer, Amy picked up the organs she had removed from Vicky and began to tuck them into the skull. The body had not yet died – she had told the heart to keep pumping – so she used the biomass to form a simulacrum of a new brain. With one hand on Vicky's stomach, she made it into as close a replica of Dean's as she could. “This one,” she explained, “is going to fall into a comatose state, and die in a few days.”  
  
Vicky's eyes were wide. “Holy shit. When you did the swap between Eric and Crystal, I thought that was insane, but this takes the cake.”  
  
Amy grinned. “There's a lot I can do, but I've never been willing, in case it made me want to do more.” She kissed Vicky, hard. “I want to do more.”  
  
Vicky kissed her back. “When you get your cock, I am going to make you fuck me up the ass  _so hard.”_  
  
“Might want to wait till we get Dean a new body,” Amy pointed out. “Besides, you don't have much of an ass, right now.”  
  
“Okay, fine,” Vicky agreed. “What now?”  
  
“Now,” Amy told her, “we go see the Wards.”  
  


(Y)

  
Their pet guard, as Vicky called him, swiped them into the Wards' base, then took up a position just inside the doors. Amy strolled over to the monitor console, which was being manned – girled? - by someone she didn't know. The newcomer was female, about Amy's age, and had Asian features. A large crossbow of some sort was leaning up against the desk.  
  
“You're not Shadow Stalker,” Vicky noted, indicating the weapon.  
  
The girl chuckled. “No, I'm not. Flechette. I came in from New York to replace her.” She stood and offered her gloved hand; she was in full costume, including visor. “And you are … ?”  
  
Amy shook her hand anyway. “Ah, sorry. I thought you'd recognise us. Panacea and Glory Girl.”  
  
Flechette rolled her eyes self-deprecatingly. “Ah, of course.”  
  
“So, they swapped one crossbow user for another?” Amy asked.  
  
Flechette smiled. “It's actually an arbalest,” she explained, effortlessly hefting it. “It needs to be cranked, and it shoots a whole lot farther. My power lets me make the projectiles armour-piercing.”  
  
“Huh,” Vicky noted. “A lot more badass than Shadow Stalker.” Amy wasn't sure whether she was referring to the arbalest or the girl. She agreed, on both points. However, she wanted Flechette for Noelle's forces; Vicky, she was sure, just wanted to fuck her.  
  
“So where's Vista and everyone else?” she asked. “I just came down to fix her arm, and to give everyone a quick check-over while I was here. The Director okayed it.”  
  
“Oh, uh, Vista's resting,” Flechette told her. “Kid Win's in his workshop. Clockblocker and Aegis are on patrol.”  
  
“And there's me,” a voice called out from the complex of partitions that made up the sleeping areas. “You guys always forget about me.”  
  
Flechette looked around, along with Amy and Vicky. “Oh, yeah, no idea how you slipped my mind,” she agreed. “You've met Browbeat?”  
  
“Once or twice,” Amy replied, then frowned. “Now, I know the rest of the Wards have unmasked to me, but have you?”  
  
Browbeat shook his head in mild frustration. “No, and that's the third time you've asked me that.” He turned to Flechette. “It's not just you. I swear, I have some sort of Stranger power. I walk out of sight, and bam! Nobody's heard of me. I went away for a month's vacation once, and my parents rented out my room.”  
  
Amy raised an eyebrow. “I suppose it could be worse. Everyone in the world could know your name, and always be demanding that you cure every disease everywhere.”  
  
“Ooh.” He grimaced. “Okay, not complaining any more.”  
  
She smiled. “Tell you what, once I'm done with Vista, I'll give you a check-over anyway. And Flechette, too. Just to make sure that you're both healthy.”  
  
“Okay, sure, but I'm feeling okay,” Browbeat assured her.  
  
“If I told you how many people with fatal illnesses had told me that exact thing … “ Amy replied with a grin.  
  
He held his hands up defensively. “Okay, okay. You win. I won't struggle.”  
  
“Thank you,” Amy told him, then headed for Vista's sleeping enclosure.  
  
Not very much to her surprise, the youngest Ward was in full costume, with her arm in a sling, as she sat up in bed, reading.  
  
“Oh, hi, Amy,” she greeted the biokinetic. “So you made it out alive too, huh?”  
  
Amy sat down beside her and stroked her hair. “Sure did, munchkin,” she told her softly. “Take off your visor, will you?”  
  
Looking puzzled, Vista sat up properly and did as she was told. Amy leaned in and kissed her, lips to lips, tongue protruding through. Vista went to protest, to pull back, and then Amy's influence hit, dissolving the memory blocks, and doing more besides. Her arms went around Amy's body, and she returned the kiss in full.  
  
With an afterthought, Amy fixed the broken bones in Missy's arm, then she had her skirt up and her panties down as Missy jumped down off the bed and began to eat her out.  
  
Lying back on the bed, Amy held a pillow over her own face as Missy's naughty little tongue darted all around her sex, licking and slurping, driving the older girl to every greater heights of pleasure.  
  
Her climax hit, blasting through her mind, and she arched her back, pushing her streaming pussy into Missy's face. The preteen continued to eat her, pleasuring her with a single-minded attention to detail that Amy could only wish that Vicky had.  
  
After her fourth or fifth screaming orgasm, Amy dropped the pillow to one side and reluctantly pushed Missy's face away from her crotch. She flopped back, panting raggedly. “Wow. Fuck.”  
  
Missy climbed on to the bed beside her. “You're welcome. How's things going?”  
  
“Well, by this time, all of New Wave should be on our side,” Amy told her. “Dunno if they told you, but Gallant's killed someone.”  
  
“No, they didn't,” Vista noted, fitting on her visor. “He's locked up?”  
  
“Vicky and me are springing him,” Amy told her. “He's mine, now. And he can be yours if you want.”  
  
Vista licked her lips. “Oh, I want. I want.”  
  
Amy kissed her. “Good. Now, Flechette and whats-his-name are still free. So I'll do her and then him.”  
  
“Whats-his-name?” asked Missy, as Amy pulled her panties up once more.  
  
“You know, your other member.”  
  
Missy frowned. “We have another member?”  
  
“Big guy. Muscles.”  
  
“Oh, uh, Headbutt or something?”  
  
Amy had a flash of memory. “Browbeat.”  
  
“Oh, right. Him.” Vista frowned. “Why do I have trouble remembering him?”  
  
Amy shrugged. “No idea.”  
  
When they emerged, Vicky was flirting with Flechette, who was cheerfully flirting right back. Browbeat was sitting at one of the tables, nursing a soda.  
  
“Come on, Flechette,” Amy told the archer. “Let's get some privacy.” She flicked a glance Browbeat's way.  
  
“Sure,” agreed the newest Ward. “My room?” She looked at Vista. “How's your arm?”  
  
“I'll arm-wrestle  _you_  any day,” Vista shot back with a grin.  
  
“That's the spirit. My room's this way.”  
  
Amy followed the girl to her sleeping enclosure; once the door was locked, Flechette looked at her. “So what now?”  
  
Amy shrugged. “I need skin contact. Once I've got that, I can work my magic.”  
  
Flechette frowned. “If that's all you need,” she replied, peeling off a glove, “then why couldn't we -”  
  
“Because this,” Amy whispered, taking her hand, and taking control of her body. Once more, it only took a few seconds to alter her attitudes. She was already gay; Amy made it so that she was much more adventurous and kinky, and would be amenable to anything Vicky suggested. If Vicky wanted to fuck her, then Vicky would get to fuck her any way she wanted.  
  
When she was finished, Flechette looked at her, raising an eyebrow. “So that's how it is,” she murmured.  
  
“That's how it is,” Amy replied, and explained the password situation. “We're going to bring down the city, destroy it. Every cape, every law enforcement organisation. The villains, the heroes, they'll either be with us, captured or dead.”  
  
Flechette grinned, pulled Amy close, and kissed her. “Bring it.”  
  


(Y)

  
“So what was your name again, sorry?” asked Amy as she approached the costumed boy at the table.  
  
He sighed in aggravation. “I swear, I will have it tattooed on my fucking forehead.”  
  
She giggled. “Actually, I'm just pulling your leg, Browbeat. I remember. Now, we need to have some privacy for this. But I need Vicky along for a chaperone. Just so no-one can say anything wrong went on.”  
  
Browbeat shrugged. “Sure, so long as I don't have to actually take my clothes off.”  
  
Amy snorted. “Yeah, that's not going to happen.”  
  
Browbeat led the way to his sleeping enclosure; Amy gestured to Vicky, who had been looking with some interest at Flechette.  
  
“Do I have to be along?” grumbled Vicky.  
  
Amy nodded firmly. “Yes, you do.”  
  
Vicky rolled her eyes. “Okay,  _fine.”_  
  
Amy closed the door of the sleeping enclosure and locked it. “Okay, sit on the bed,” she told Browbeat. He obeyed, looking puzzled. She reached out and touched his bare cheek; he froze.  
  
“Okay, Vicky,” she told the blonde, “lie down on the floor.”  
  
Understanding began to dawn as Vicky lay down; without having to be asked, she pulled up her t-shirt to show her bra-less breasts. Amy slid her fingers into her sister's stomach, pulling the flesh apart once more, to show the coiled intestines and the brain nestled within. She left Vicky like that, and turned to Browbeat.  
  
“I'd originally intended to just build Gallant a body out of random biomass when we got out of here,” she commented as she pushed his mask back off his head. “But this guy was here, so why the fuck not?”  
  
She froze Browbeat's body more completely, locking all his muscles and setting his heart to work independently of his brain, much as she had with Gallant. Then she lifted the top of his skull off and set it on the bed beside him. His brain came out next; she put that on the bed next to the top of his head. Leaning down, she carefully scooped Gallant's brain out of Vicky's stomach cavity and slid it into Browbeat's skull. It was the work of a moment to re-establish the required connections, then she replaced the top of his skull.  
  
“This is very, very weird,” Vicky observed from the floor. “And trust me, I'm a clone created by an insane Case Fifty-Three who wants to destroy the world. I  _know_  weird.”  
  
Amy looked down at her; she was leaning up on her elbows, watching the procedure, uncaring of the fact that there was a gaping wound in her stomach, and half of her internal organs were missing. She leaned down and kissed Vicky. “Someday,” she murmured, “I'm going to make you into a wearable suit with two cocks on the inside, so you can fuck me all day long.”  
  
“Mmm,” the blonde replied as Amy lifted Browbeat's brain and placed it into her abdominal cavity. “Sounds kinky. Make a third cock too, so I can make you drink my cum.”  
  
Amy nodded; she caused the brain to slump into basic biomass, then used it to remake Vicky's uterus and colon. Reattaching the appropriate connections wasn't hard; nerves and blood vessels came easy to her.  
  
“That's an idea, too,” she agreed, closing up the gaping wound. Not even a scar was left behind. She kissed Vicky again, then turned to look at Browbeat's body. Reaching out, she unfroze him. “Hey, Dean. Anybody home?”  
  
Browbeat's eyes blinked once, twice, then he focused. “What the fuck? Where am I?”  
  
Amy grinned. “I broke you out of jail. You're in Browbeat's body.”  
  
He frowned. “I'm what now?”  
  
She sighed. “I put your brain into Browbeat's body. Browbeat is dead. You'll be walking out with us. I can make you look like anyone you want.”  
  
He paused. “But – I  _killed_  someone.”  
  
“Yeah, because I told you to,” Amy reminded him. “Remember?”  
  
“Oh, yeah,” he agreed. “Now I remember.”  
  
“So, did it feel good?” she asked.  
  
He smiled. “It did. It felt really good.”  
  
She nodded. “Well, don't do it again unless I say you can. Now ...” She touched his cheek again. “That should do it.”  
  
“What did you just do?” he asked.  
  
“Made it so you're strongly attracted to Vista,” Amy replied.  
  
He smiled. “Oh yeah. I  _like_  that cute little butt.”  
  
“How about  _my_  butt?” asked Vicky, pretending hurt.  
  
Browbeat/Gallant grinned. “Hey, I'll fuck you too. But Vista is some kind of smoking hot.”  
  
Amy rolled her eyes as she put her hand on Vicky's arm, regrowing her penis once more. “Okay, come on. Time for me to go see Kid Win.”  
  
When they entered the general living area, Flechette was flirting with Vista, to the point that the older girl was caressing Vista's butt; Vista wasn't objecting. Amy made one last cosmetic change to Browbeat's body, then cleared her throat. Flechette and Vista looked around.  
  
“ … Dean?” asked Vista.  
  
Browbeat/Gallant smiled. “It's me,” he confirmed. Beside him, Vicky locked eyes with Flechette.  
  
“You kids play nice now,” Amy told them with a grin, then went in search of Kid Win.  
  


(Y)

  
By the time she came back with him – he had been just as much a pushover as the others, given that he trusted her utterly – the party was in full swing. Vista's visor was off and she had the top of her costume open, to allow Browbeat/Gallant full access to her underdeveloped chest. She was on her knees, giving him a blowjob; he was naked, having stripped his costume all the way off so that she could get access to his penis.  
  
Vicky's top was off, and her jeans were around her ankles. Flechette had shed most of her costume, and was down on all fours, while Vicky fucked her almost brutally from behind. She urged on her blonde lover with a torrent of filth that Amy had rarely heard even from recordings of Skidmark.  
  
As Amy and Chris watched, Missy slid out of her costume altogether, dropped her panties on the floor, and lay down. Browbeat/Gallant climbed on top of her, penis solidly erect, his intent clear. So was hers; she spread her legs to welcome him, and reached down to guide him into her.  
  
“Holy shit,” muttered Chris. “I thought we were destroying Brockton Bay, not fucking everything with a pulse.”  
  
Amy shrugged. “Sex and violence,” she noted. “There are many overlaps. And besides, we're teenagers, and we have lots and lots of issues. I don't know if Freud was right, but quite a few of these short-circuit into sex.”  
  
She felt his hand cup her buttock. “Would you be interested in a bit of a short circuit?” he asked with a grin.  
  
She shook her head. “Nope. Only with Vicky. And a little bit with Missy, mainly because she's blonde. You could try Vista, once Gallant's finished fucking her.”  
  
The little preteen was grunting with the effort as Gallant forced his cock between her immature labia; her legs were raised and parted, and Amy could see how much her pussy was being stretched. Gradually, bit by bit, she took him into her vaginal canal; Amy could almost see the bulge in her stomach that was his erection within her.  
  
“Wasn't Gallant in Master/Stranger lockdown?” asked Chris. As far as Amy could tell, his disinterest was total; he was just making conversation.  
  
“Long story,” Amy replied, watching the show, seeing how Vicky yanked back on Flechette's long hair like reins, how the Ward responded eagerly by thrusting her butt backward toward Vicky's plundering cock.  
  
“So we're destroying Brockton Bay, huh?”  
  
“Sure,” she agreed. “All your inventions, fuck them up slightly. Make them so they malfunction, but not in a doesn't-work way. Make them so they fuck up spectacularly, so they'll cause casualties, wounded, among capes. Heroes or villains, I don't care. Just so long as I get called in to do healing.”  
  
“I can do that,” he agreed, then cupped her buttock again. “Are you sure you don't want to -”  
  
The alarm blared from the monitor console. Gallant looked up in mid-thrust, while Vicky paused with her cock buried to the hilt inside Flechette's asshole.  
  
“Everyone out of camera range!” called out Chris, fitting his visor back on. Gallant got off of Vista and helped her up, then they picked up both costumes before retiring off to the side. Vicky and Flechette separated, grabbing their clothes, and similarly fled.  
  
Amy accompanied Chris to the console; as soon as the others were out of the way, he hit the reply key. “Yeah, sorry, was away from the console. What's up?”  
  
Miss Militia's scarf-clad visage filled the screen. The sound of a motorbike added background noise, but not so loudly that he couldn't be heard. Amy figured she must be riding one of Armsmaster's creations.  _“We have a situation. I strongly suspect that the Slaughterhouse Nine might be in town. Patrols will be stepped up, but Wards will no longer patrol without a Protectorate member . Is that Panacea with you?”_  
  
“Uh, yes, yes, it is,” Amy told her, stepping fully into camera range. “What do you want me to do? Is anyone hurt?”  
  
“ _Nothing you can work with. Just corpses, so far,”_ the older hero told her bluntly.  _“I can't get hold of the rest of New Wave, so tell them what I've told you, and to keep it quiet for the moment. Don't go out alone. Keep an eye out for strangers with their descriptions. In fact, I would advise you to go home, immediately, and stay there.”_  
  
“Understood,” she replied. “Was there anything else?”  
  
“ _Nothing for the moment, but be ready for casualties,”_ Miss Militia responded.  _“Kid Win.”_  
  
“Yes, ma'am,” replied the Wards Tinker.  
  
“ _I'm moving to link up with Aegis and Clockblocker, and escort them back to base. I'll brief you all when I get there. Miss Militia, out.”_  
  
The picture cut out, and Amy was left staring at a blank screen.  
  
“Well, fuck,” Chris muttered.  
  
“Hey, this is great,” Flechette enthused. “It means you get Miss Militia and the others, all at the same time. High five!” Vicky replied to the 'five', and the two girls slapped hands.  
  
Amy smiled. More capes on her personal army meant more ruin to Brockton Bay. That was the long term. In the short term? More people to find and take out the Slaughterhouse Nine.  
  
In order to destroy the city, first she would have to save it.  
  
 _Fuck you, Jack Slash. Brockton Bay might be going down, but it's going down on **my** terms._


	6. Consolidation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amy and Vicky successfully take over the Wards, but other efforts meet with mixed success ...

The doors slid open, and Miss Militia strode into the Wards' base, a rocket launcher slung over her shoulder. Following her were Aegis and Clockblocker; the leader of the Wards Amy could handle easily, along with Miss Militia herself. It was Clockblocker she was going to have the trouble with; his full-body costume denied her any chance to get the skin contact that she needed.  
  
Which didn't stop Amy from dealing with the other two; as Miss Militia entered the room, the biokinetic stepped forward with her hand out.  
  
"It's good to see you, ma'am," she greeted the older woman.  
  
Reflexively, the leader of the local Protectorate contingent clasped her hand. Skin to skin contact was achieved, and Miss Militia became Amy's to command.  
  
"It's good to see you too, Panacea," the hero replied, without missing a beat. She drew the taser from her belt and shot Clockblocker with it; at the same time, Flechette nailed Aegis's foot to the floor with one of her arbalest bolts.  
  
"Thank  _you,"_ Amy replied, stepping over to where Clockblocker twitched limply on the floor. Removing his helmet to reveal tanned features and red hair, she put her hand on his cheek for a moment; revived from the electric shock, he sat up and grinned at her.  
  
"Cool ambush," he praised her. "Want me to freeze Aegis?"  
  
"Alert!" shouted Aegis, one foot off the ground as he twisted to free his other foot from the arbalest bolt. "The Wards are compromised! Panacea's gone villain!"  
  
"Uh, Carlos?" Kid Win spoke up, from way back out of Aegis's reach. He held up a jury-rigged device. "Jamming, here. Your earbud isn't going to reach jack."  
  
Aegis pulled himself free of the bolt, leaving a ragged hole in his foot, and zoomed toward the ceiling; for a moment it looked as though he was heading for the doors, but then he looped back toward the monitor array.  
  
"Oh, for fuck's sake," muttered Vicky; she took off after him. However, he sensed her coming, and rolled out of the way. Several darts whipped through the air around him, about half of them sticking into his body; he brushed them aside impatiently and doubled back toward Kid Win. Miss Militia looked irritated, and changed up to a minigun.  
  
Kid Win yelped and dived to the side; Aegis went to close with him, but jinked as a spray of bullets chewed up the floor and wall near Kid Win. Miss Militia stopped firing as Vicky closed with Aegis once more.  
  
Flechette reloaded and shot off another bolt; Aegis saw it coming and shoved Vicky into the way. It hit her, punching clean through her vaunted invulnerability, and through her as well. She choked and fell to the floor, spraying bright blood from a hole in her chest. Aegis twitched limply, nailed to the wall by the bolt, which had gone in through his right eye and out through the back of his skull.  
  
"And that," declared Flechette, "is how you fucking do it."  
  
"Damn," Clockblocker declared. "You are so hot right now. Want to fuck?"  
  
Flechette shook her head. "Nope. I go for girls, not guys."  
  
Amy went over to Vicky and healed the damage, closing the hole without a scar. Vicky got up, looking irritated. "I fucking  _had_  him."  
  
"Hey, don't be like that, lover," Flechette told her as Amy stretched on tip-toe to reach Aegis. "I took the shot. It's not my fault you got in the way."  
  
"Fuck you," Vicky retorted. "Ames, need a hand?"  
  
"Yeah, if you could," grunted Amy. "Can't quite reach, here."  
  
Turning her back on Flechette, Vicky picked up her sister and flew her up to where Aegis was just starting to pull himself off of the bolt. Amy reached out and grabbed his hand; seconds later, he was hers.  
  
With Vicky's help, he pulled himself off of the bolt and hovered in midair while Amy repaired his brain and eye; it wouldn't do, after all, to have him wandering around with an injury like that. She needed that sort of attention like she needed a hole in the head.  
  
"Okay," Miss Militia noted, once everyone was back at ground level once more. "What are your orders, Panacea?"  
  
"Well, in a week or so, we're going to start destroying Brockton Bay," Amy told her. "We're going to recruit all the capes we can, kill the ones we can't."  
  
"Sounds reasonable," Miss Militia replied, unholstering a very large revolver and spinning it on her finger. "What about the Nine?"  
  
"We kill or recruit them, too," Amy responded. "In the meantime, everyone who hasn't already done so is to report to Noelle for cloning. Your clones will have the job of pretending to be normal while fucking things up from behind the scenes. Got it?"  
  
"Got it," the older hero agreed. “I don't have a family here, but some of us do. Fuck with them too?”  
  
Amy nodded. “Act normal, do shit to keep them off balance without letting on that it's you. Your clones will have no trouble killing them when the time comes.”  
  
“Good,” Clockblocker decided. “My dad's got enough shit in his life right now. I'd feel bad killing him.”  
  
“Speak for yourself,” Vista told him, rubbing her body up and down that of the boy in Browbeat's costume. “I can't wait to see the look on my parents' faces when they realise that I'm about to fuck them up forever.”  
  
“What about the Director?” asked Miss Militia pragmatically. “I could go to her office now and pop her.”  
  
Amy shook her head. “No, don't worry about it. She's mine already. If she queries you about anything, just say it was my idea. She'll be self-destructing soon anyway.”  
  
“What, literally?” asked Clockblocker. “How did you manage that?”  
  
Amy chuckled and shook her head. “Not literally. But I fucked with her brain. She's going to be doing some very self-destructive stuff. Not our concern any more.”  
  
“Good,” noted Miss Militia. “Now, how do you propose to get the rest of the Protectorate under your sway?”  
  
Amy shrugged. “Tell 'em you think Bonesaw released some sort of viral thing, and that they need me to fix it.”  
  
The flag-clad hero smiled under her scarf. “That should work. New Wave?”  
  
“Already taken care of,” Amy told her. “You guys go back to being normal. I need to go see Taylor now. She's got some things I need to deal with.”  
  
“Before we go,” murmured Vicky. She stepped up to Miss Militia and pulled her scarf down. Then she kissed the older woman, putting her arms around her and pulling her close. Miss Milita returned the kiss, not as enthusiastically as Vicky was giving it, but enough that it was clear she didn't mind it.  
  
“Hm,” Vicky noted, letting her go and stepping back. “Nice.”  
  
Miss Militia smiled. “Yes, it was.”  
  
Amy rolled her eyes. “If you've done making out with the cougar, let's go.”  
  
“So hey, coming back for seconds?” asked Flechette.  
  
Vicky sneered at her. “Fuck no. You  _shot_  me.”  
  
Flechette turned to Amy. “Can I -”  
  
“If you're going to ask me to tell Vicky to give you a second chance, don't bother,” Amy told her. “She makes her own choices.”  
  
“Not that,” Flechette told her, shaking her head. “I was going to ask, could I go and grab Sabah when I go to be cloned. We've been fucking, so if Vicky won't … “  
  
Amy shrugged. “Sure. But don't let her get away to give the alarm. If she gives you problems, kill her. Then make it look like one of the Nine did it.”  
  
Flechette nodded earnestly. “Sure, I can do that.”  
  
“What  _are_  we going to do about the Nine, anyway?” asked Vicky curiously.  
  
Amy grinned. “You'll see.”  
  


<< oo >>

  
Danny Hebert sat in his living room, the paper open, but his ears cocked for any sound from upstairs. Taylor had been still semi-conscious when he got her home from the hospital; she had begun to wake up when they set her crushed hand, so they had sedated her for the duration.  
  
He still didn't know if she would keep the hand; he'd heard that Amy had also survived the catastrophe.  _Maybe she can come over and fix it._  
  
There was a knock at the front door; he frowned.  _Who even knows I'm home from work today?_  
  
He got up to answer it; opening the door revealed Alan Barnes standing on the top step, with Rod Clements behind him. Alan looked haggard, and Rod wasn't much better.  
  
“Come in, come in,” he told them. “What's happening? Why are you here?”  
  
“Vista phoned me,” Alan replied. “The PRT thinks that the Slaughterhouse Nine are in Brockton Bay. We have to warn Taylor.”  
  
“Taylor's still asleep,” Danny warned them. “I don't even know if she knows that the others didn't survive.”  
  
“ _Fuck,”_  grated Alan, clenching his fists. “We were going so well, too. How did this even fucking  _happen?”_  
  
Danny shook his head. “Shit just happens. Here, let me pour you a drink.”  
  
Neither Alan nor Rod demurred, so Danny went and got the bottle of bonded bourbon from the top shelf of the pantry cupboard. He came back with three glasses; they all sat down around the kitchen table.  
  
Danny poured into each glass, then raised his. “To Emma and Madison,” he toasted formally.  
  
They clinked their glasses with his. “To Emma and Madison,” they repeated. Each of them drank; the hard liquor burned their throats, but Danny poured three more glasses.  
  
This time, Alan proposed the toast. “To the Samaritans.”  
  
Again, they clinked glasses. Again, they drank.  
  
Danny poured. Rod Clements raised his glass. “Danny, you beat the son of a bitch to death, didn't you?”  
  
Danny nodded. “I wish I'd made him suffer twice as long as I did.”  
  
Rod nodded. “Right there with you, man.” He raised his glass. “To Danny, for doing what needed doing. And to Taylor, for surviving.”  
  
Danny let them clink their glasses against his; automatically, he drank.  
  
“Danny?” asked Alan. “You there?”  
  
Danny nodded. “Yeah … you ever see that sort of thing?” He pointed at a bunch of flies in the middle of the table. Several flies, bigger and tougher looking than normal, had surrounded a couple of standard house flies, and were literally pulling their wings off, then their legs. They finally flew away, leaving a couple of dismembered fly corpses in their wake.  
  
“Huh,” Rod commented. “That's kinda weird.”  
  
“Territorial?” asked Alan Barnes.  
  
“Flies aren't really territorial,” Danny pointed out. “They swarm, remember?”  
  
“Maybe Taylor's having a bad dream,” Rod suggested.  
  
Danny nodded. “Maybe.” He hefted the bottle, which was a good way down by now. Alan and Rod both lifted their glasses. He poured the drinks.  
  
“To broken dreams,” Danny decided at last. He clinked his glass against the others', and they drank.  
  
Danny looked at the bottle. “Sorry, guys. Just about out. I don't keep much in the house.”  
  
“That's okay,” Alan told him. “More in the car. I thought ahead.” He got up and headed out through the living room.  
  
Danny and Rod looked at one another. “Tell me you made the bastard suffer,” Rod requested. He'd heard the story before, but he liked Danny to tell it.  
  
“I hit him with the truck,” Danny told him, quietly but clearly. “Lisa had texted me that she was chasing him, and where to, so I was driving that way. I got there just too late; he shot her as I drove up. So I hit him full on. He was still alive, with maybe a couple of broken bones. It was too late for her; she was dead.”  
  
He drained the bottle into his glass, and knocked it back. Rod did not protest.  
  
The front door opened as Danny continued the story. “I got the tyre iron out. He still had the gun; I broke his hand. Then I smashed every single joint in his body. Wrists, shoulders, elbows. Knees, ankles. I took my time. And he begged. He pleaded. He pissed himself. He shit himself. I could smell it. By the time I ended it, he was a fucking  _animal.”_  
  
“He was that long before you caved his fucking skull in,” Alan Barnes commented, sitting down at the table once more. “Nothing human kidnaps a twelve year old girl and drugs her.”  
  
“What did he want her for, again?” asked Rod. “I never did get that straight.”  
  
“Probably the fucking usual,” spat Alan Barnes. “Fucking pervert.”  
  
Danny shook his head as he opened the new bottle. “No, I had the chance to talk to her parents. She's been having headaches. Saying she can see the future.”  
  
Rod raised his eyes to heaven. “A fucking  _precog_. That explains a whole lot. He wanted her to tell the future for him. And the drugs … “  
  
“ … were there to keep her docile,” Alan concluded. “Christ. The world we live in.”  
  
Danny looked around at the sound of a step, and saw Taylor, looking pale and wan, leaning on the doorway from the living room. Her injured hand was heavily splinted.  
  
“Shit, you shouldn't be up,” he blurted, leaving the glass half-poured, and jumping from his chair to put his arms around her. “You should be in bed, kiddo.”  
  
“I heard voices,” she murmured. “Didn't know what was going on. Where I was.” She looked around groggily. “Where's Emma and Madison?”  
  
Danny squeezed his eyes tight shut, feeling the hot tears leaking through. “Taylor, you should sit down. There's something we need to tell you.”  
  


<< oo >>

  
“There's the house,” Amy told Vicky, but the blonde was already swooping downward.  
  
“Been here before, remember?” Vicky grinned as she pinched Amy's ass through the jeans.  
  
“ _You_ haven't, but close enough, I guess,” Amy agreed.  
  
They came in for a fast landing in the back yard; Amy trotted up the steps and knocked on the back door.  
  
It opened a moment or so later; Alan Barnes stood there.  
  
 _Fuck,_  Amy noted.  _He's a fucking mess._  
  
“Panacea?” he asked. “Glory Girl?”  
  
“Just Amy and Vicky, out of costume,” Amy corrected him. “Is Taylor here?”  
  
Alan nodded. “Come on in,” he invited them, stepping back.  
  
Amy stepped inside, followed by Vicky. At the kitchen table, Taylor sat in a chair, closely embraced by Danny; she was crying.  
  
“We just told her about Emma and Madison,” Alan told them softly.  
  
Amy grimaced. “God, that was horrible.”  
  
“Do you remember what happened?” Alan asked. “Taylor can't. She says it's all a blur.”  
  
Amy laid her hand on his forearm for a moment. “I remember some of it, and Vicky remembers some,” she told him softly. “We've pretty well pieced it together.”  
  
“If you could tell us … “ he urged her. “It would be a great help. Give us closure.”  
  
Amy nodded. “Just give me a minute.” She moved over to where Danny held his daughter. “Taylor?”  
  
The skinny brunette looked around. “Oh god, thank you. Amy, Vicky, you're alive.”  
  
Amy smiled. “Very much so. Give me your hand?”  
  
Trustingly, Taylor held out her good hand, and Amy held it for a few moments. “Okay, all your injuries are fixed now,” she reported. She saw the new light in Taylor's eyes, and knew that the memory blocks were down. 'Taylor' knew exactly who and what she was, and her role in the upcoming devastation of Brockton Bay.  
  
“Thank you,” she murmured, keeping to the pretence. “You were saying about Emma and Madison?”  
  
Amy nodded and pulled a chair around. She held Danny's hand for a moment, then sat down with Rod Clements' hand in hers. “We don't remember much,” she lied, “but there was a firefight, and then there was a tremendous explosion, and the roof started coming down. Vicky did her best, but there were more chunks than she could handle. Madison had her air shield up, which protected us, and Emma used her hair to shore up the rest. That gave us a breathing space, and Vicky tried to set it up so that when the roof did come all the way down, we'd all be safe.”  
  
Vicky had been helping Taylor remove the splint; at this, Taylor put her arm around the blonde girl.  
  
“I didn't have time to finish,” Vicky told them, hanging her head. “Madison tired out first, and then Emma lost it. There weren't enough spaces. I tried to get to them … I really tried.”  
  
“If it wasn't for them, we wouldn't be here,” Amy finished in perfect honesty, and total untruth. “We owe them our lives.”  
  
Danny shook his head. “Fuck.” He poured a glass, then one for each of the other men.  
  
“Dad ...” Taylor spoke up. “Could we have a bit … you know, to toast?”  
  
Danny tightened his lips. “What the hell. Can't hurt. And you girls have already been through hell.” He fetched three more glasses, and poured a splash into each one.  
  
Raising their glasses, all six people at the table toasted their absent friends and daughters. Danny hugged Taylor closely; she put her arms around him.  
  
After a couple more drinks, Amy and Vicky rose from the table. “We've really got to get going,” Amy told them apologetically. “Mom and Dad are probably wondering where we are.” She looked at Taylor. “We really should get together and talk, sometime.”  _I need to fill you in on stuff,_  she meant.  
  
“I'll see you out,” Taylor agreed. “Back in a sec, Dad.”  
  
All three walked out the back door, and Taylor closed it behind her. “Guess what I found out,” she murmured.  
  
Amy's eyebrows raised. “Do tell.”  
  
“The girl that was kidnapped ...”  
  
“Dinah Alcott,” Amy filled in. Miss Militia had been most helpful with such details.  
  
“Right her,” Taylor agreed. “Rod says that she's a precog. And if Coil wanted her ...”  
  
“... it means she's really powerful,” agreed Vicky. “Fuck yes.” She grabbed Taylor and kissed her soundly; Taylor kissed her back.  
  
“That's awesome to know, Taylor,” Amy agreed with a grin. “We'll go check that out immediately.”  
  
“Good,” Taylor told her. “So, what's the deal?”  
  
“We play normal, right now,” Amy informed her. “We screw things up behind the scenes, and we fuck with our familys' heads. Keep them on the back foot.”  
  
Taylor nodded. “So you've primed Dad?”  
  
“When I touched him,” Amy agreed. “You'll have about half an hour after the other two leave. I primed them to leave soon.”  
  
“Right.” Taylor grinned, a vicious expression that had little to do with the girl her father knew. “This is gonna fuck him up so  _hard.”_  
  
Amy returned the expression. “Just remember to do your part.”  
  
Taylor rolled her eyes. “Give me  _some_  credit.”  
  
Vicky nodded. “Good. Okay, we gotta go.” She squeezed Taylor's butt for a second. “Go fuck his day up.”  
  
“Go fuck  _everyone's_  day up,” Taylor replied, with a return grope.  
  
They took off, and were dwindling into the sky within seconds. Taylor watched them go, then went back inside.  
  


<< oo >>

  
“Are we -” began Amy.  
  
“If you say 'there yet', I swear I will drop you. Then pick you up and drop you again. Then fuck what remains with a street sign,” Vicky threatened.  
  
“Well, we're taking a very long time to get there,” Amy pointed out. “Aren't you fast enough to fly across Brockton Bay in a few minutes?”  
  
“It's very hard to read street signs from the air,” Vicky pointed out. “And I'm not really good at this area of town.”  
  
“Isn't that Granger Way, down there?” Amy asked. “That's near to where we need to be.”  
  
Vicky swooped down and landed, letting Amy on to her feet. “Fuck me, it is too,” she confirmed. “Where do the Alcotts live?”  
  
Amy pulled the street directory out and consulted it. “Everdean Close,” she noted. “Up … that way.”  
  
Vicky scooped her up and started in that direction at about twice the speed that a man could run. They found Everdean Close relatively quickly, and turned down it.  
  
“Right,” Vicky declared, setting Amy on her feet once more. “What number?”  
  
“Getting impatient, are we?” murmured Amy with a grin.  
  
Vicky gritted her teeth. “How she never ended up murdering someone on a daily basis is a fucking  _mystery_  to me,” she snarled. 'She', of course was the original Vicky. “I want to kill something, or fuck something, or fuck it and then kill it. Man, woman, or child, I do not give a flying fuck.”  
  
“Okay, as soon as we get the Alcott girl back to Noelle for cloning, we'll go home,” Amy told her soothingly. “Everyone will be back by then, and you can have a three-way with Crystal and Eric.”  
  
Vicky sighed in an aggravated fashion. “Fine. But as far as I can see, everyone I see is just begging to fucking  _die.”_  
  
Amy smiled sweetly. “And they will. I promise.”  _And I'll have my Vicky at last. Forever._  She looked at the number on the mailbox. “Forty-two. This is the one.”  
  
“Fucking  _finally.”_  Vicky stomped up the garden path and kicked the front door in.  
  
Sighing, Amy followed.  _Subtlety, thy name is not Victoria Dallon._  
  


<< oo >>

  
“Okay, I should be going,” Alan Barnes noted, standing up from the table. “Zoe'll be waiting dinner for me.”  
  
“Me too,” Rod Clements agreed. “I … yeah.”  
  
Taylor stood as well, and hugged first Alan and then Rod.  
  
“Thanks for coming over,” she told them. “It meant a lot. Really.”  
  
“Take care, kid,” Rod told her, tousling her hair. He turned to Danny and clasped the taller man's shoulder. “Any help you need, man. Any help at all.”  
  
Danny nodded, putting his hand over the younger man's. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”  
  
He walked them to the door, shook hands with Alan Barnes. “Let me know when … you know … “ he muttered awkwardly.  
  
“Funeral, yeah,” Alan replied. “I'll make sure of that. If Taylor could come along, do something like butterflies everywhere, it'd mean a lot.”  
  
A lump in his throat, Danny nodded again. “I'll ask her. I'm sure she'll say yes.”  
  
“Thanks.” Alan descended the steps, and headed out to where his car was parked at the curb. Rod was already in his own car; he beeped the horn, and Danny waved in reply. One car, and then the other, pulled away from the house. Danny went inside and closed the door.  
  
When he got back to the kitchen, Taylor was just finishing off what looked like a fairly large glass of bourbon. “Taylor, what the hell?”  
  
She put down the glass and looked defiantly at him. “I just wanted to stop feeling stuff for a while, okay?”  
  
“Yeah, well, drinking that much booze at your size on an empty stomach was probably not a good idea,” he chided her. “Have something to eat, drink some water. Dilute it.”  
  
“Okay,” she told him, obediently enough, and made herself a sandwich, which she chased down with a glass of orange juice. “I might go have a shower, freshen up,” she decided. “Not an invalid any more, after all.”  
  
He nodded. “It might help you feel better, yeah.”  
  
Giving him a brave smile and a kiss on the cheek, she trotted upstairs.  
  


<< oo >>

  
Rod Clements only had a mile or so to go before his vision started going wonky. One of his eyes blacked out, then came back with weird contrast all over the place. Then his other eye whited out; he couldn't see a damned thing. Then his arms and legs started to misbehave. He tried to hit the brakes; his foot refused to move from the accelerator. In fact, it shoved it all the way to the floor. To his horror, he realised that his right hand was working the gearshift, ramping the car into high gear. His vision snapped back into perfect clarity, just as he saw the crosswalk ahead. He tried to stop, to swerve, to do anything to avert the upcoming tragedy.  
  
Nothing worked.  
  
The impact on the front of the car was heavier than he thought it would be; the stroller went one way, the baby another. The mother went straight through the windshield and into the back seat of the car. And then the telegraph pole loomed ahead. The last thing he knew before impact was his right hand undoing his seat belt.  
  
And then … nothing.  
  


<< oo >>

  
Alan Barnes pulled the car into the garage and got out. It had been a good day; Emma should be back from cheerleading practice soon. He'd be interested in hearing what her day had been like. Later on, of course, he'd give her a lift over to Danny's, so the girls could have a Samaritans meeting.  
  
“Hi, honey,” he called out to Zoe as he entered the house. “I'm home. What's for dinner?”  
  
He thought his wife looked a little haggard as she came in from the kitchen. “Hello, Alan,” she greeted him, holding him tightly.  
  
He returned the hug. “And how's my beautiful wife on this most beautiful of days?” he asked cheerfully.  
  
She stared at him. “Alan … what are you  _talking_  about?” She really did look like she'd been crying.  
  
“It's a good day,” he reiterated. “What's the matter? What's happened?”  
  
“Alan,” she ventured. “Are you all right?”  
  
“I'm fine,” he assured her heartily. “It's you I'm worried about. You've been crying. What happened?”  
  
Zoe Barnes shook her head. “How can you be acting like this?” she demanded. “Our  _daughter_  is  _dead.”_  
  
Alan's jaw dropped open in honest shock. “Oh shit,” he gasped. “Anne? What happened to her? Was it an accident? A fire in her dorm?”  
  
“What? No!” shouted Zoe.  _“Emma!_   _Emma_ is dead!”  
  
Alan frowned. “What? Emma? Are you sure? When did this happen?”  
  
“Alan, don't  _do_  this to me!” screamed Zoe. “It happened the day before yesterday! We identified the body together!”  
  
“Are you sure?” asked Alan, puzzled. “Because I distinctly remember dropping Emma off at school this morning. In fact, she's due home any minute.”  
  
Driven beyond her endurance, Zoe Barnes grabbed her husband by the lapels and shook him. “ _EMMA IS DEAD! EMMA IS DEAD!”_  
  
And that was when he hit her. A beautiful, crisp backhand that blacked her eye and sent her sprawling on to the carpet. She sat up, blood beginning to drip from her nose, just as he closed with her.  
  
“I  _know_  she's dead, you stupid bitch,” he ground out. “You don't need to rub my face in it.” He drew back his leg for a powerful kick. The first one broke her arm. The second, several ribs. By the fifth kick, she wasn't moving any more.  
  
Panting from the exertion, Alan Barnes went into his study and poured himself a glass of bourbon, settling into his favourite chair to enjoy it.  
  
Emma would be home soon, and he was looking forward to hearing about her day.  
  


<< oo >>

  
Danny looked up as Taylor trotted down the stairs. After the shower, she had changed into a t-shirt and a skirt. A fresh, clean scent followed her; she had obviously shampooed her hair. It fluffed about her head, airy and light.  
  
“Wow, your hair looks nice,” he told her, and it was true. It did.  
  
“Thanks, Dad,” she replied with a smile, and flopped on to the sofa beside him. “What are you watching?”  
  
“Some movie,” he responded idly. “Don't even remember the plot.”  
  
“That's fine,” she giggled, snuggling up to him. He draped his arm over her shoulders, and she cuddled into the warmth of his body. “We don't need plot. We just need each other.”  
  
He looked down fondly at her head, resting on his chest, and sniffed at her hair. It really did smell nice. “Yeah,” he agreed. “That's all we need.”  
  
She cuddled up a bit closer, throwing one leg over his, and he became somewhat aware of the smooth skin of her leg, rubbing on his. Normally it would not bother him, but something about Taylor's proximity was affecting him; moment by moment, he was becoming more and more aroused.  
  
 _Maybe it's the booze,_  he wondered, and realised that yes, he was thinking more slowly than normal.  _Maybe it's why she's being so friendly._  
  
Because friendly she was certainly being; putting her other leg across his, she wriggled up on to his lap; he became acutely aware that her skirt was not covering his lap; the only thing between his pants and erection and her ass was her panties.  
  
“Mmm,” she murmured, snuggling into his chest and pulling his arm more closely around her. His forearm was pressed against her breast, and he felt his hand come to rest quite naturally on her other breast. To his horror, he felt the hand cup and caress her small breast through her T-shirt; it was obvious that she hadn't bothered to put on a bra.  
  
 _I should put a stop to this, get up, make dinner,_ he told himself firmly.  
  
But he didn't. In fact, even as one hand squeezed and caressed her breast, the other slid up under her skirt.  
  
“Dad?” she murmured as he caressed her thighs. “What're you doing?”  
  
“Shh,” he heard himself reply; his erection was straining upward, prodding at her taut, spare ass. One hand pushed her shirt up until her breasts were bared, and he began to molest them in earnest; his other hand parted her thighs and pushed her skirt up to her waist.  
  
“Dad?” she asked again, more awake this time. “Dad? What are you doing? Stop. No, Dad. Stop. Please stop.”  
  
But he couldn't stop. The impulses flooded through his system. The t-shirt was lifted up and taken from her, despite her protests. That left her naked from the waist up; she made strange grunting noises when he suckled on her breasts, but did not cease struggling to get away.  
  
But his body had decided on this, and it was getting what it wanted. Her skirt came away, leaving her clad in just panties. Thin, wispy things that broke away with just a firm tug.  
  
She was naked, in his arms. He stood up, undid his pants. Allowed his cock to spring out, gloriously erect. Took hold of her fragrant, freshly-shampooed hair, and brought her face to his erection. She refused to suck at first, so he slapped her. She opened her mouth then, and he forced her to fellate him until he was almost on the point of coming.  
  
And then he pushed her back, spread her legs, got on top of her. She struggled, screamed. To no avail. He felt his penis probing, pushing. Reaching down, he guided it home. She screamed again, on a higher note, as he thrust hard. A guttural scream of pain rather than terror.  
  
She was hot and tight and wet around him, and he thrust hard, thrust deeply into her slippery sweet young pussy. Even now, she struggled, tried to push him off of her. But he was too strong, too heavy. He held her down and raped her, ramming his manhood all the way up inside of her, over and over again.  
  
When he came, it was amazing; the orgasm blasted through him, emptying out into her body, filling her with his seed. He pumped his hips, defiling her womb with his incestuous semen, spurting again and again into her, as she sobbed under him, too weak to struggle any more.  
  
He was done. It was over. He was finished. He drew a deep breath, and found that his body was his once more to command. Aghast, he rolled off of Taylor, his penis sliding from her with an obscene _plop._  Blood stained her thighs, proof positive that he had taken her maidenhead. Had raped his daughter at the very lowest point of her life.  
  
“Oh god, Taylor, I'm so sorry,” he groaned.  
  
The look she gave him cut him to the core, wounded him more deeply than any weapon ever could.  
  
“Dad,” she whispered, her throat rough and raw with the earlier screaming. “How  _could_ you?”  
  
He had no answer, but nor did she give him a chance to come up with one. Stumbling to her feet, she left the room, not bothering to retrieve her scattered clothing. He heard her feet ascending the stairs, going along the passageway. Her door closing.  
  
He fancied that he could hear the lock snicking closed.  
  
And he was left alone on the sofa, his daughter's virginal blood drying on his flaccid penis.  
  
Alone as any man had ever been.  
  


<< oo >>

  
Amy entered the Alcott house, to find Vicky holding a woman up against the wall by her throat. “Where is she?” gritted the blonde, poising a fist.  
  
“Uh, let her talk,” suggested Amy.  
  
Rolling her eyes, Vicky let up a little on the pressure. “Where?” she repeated.  
  
The woman sobbed with panic. Amy put a hand on her arm, calming her, making it so that he would only tell the truth. “Where is Dinah?” she asked, softly, gently.  
  
“B-bathroom,” the woman told her. “She went to take a bath.”  
  
“Thanks,” Vicky replied, and punched her head through the wall. Well,  _most_  of her head. Some of it didn't make it through.  
  
Amy headed on, upstairs, leaving Vicky to prowl the ground floor, for what mischief she might find. A pet she could dismember, perhaps.  
  
Amy found the bathroom; the door was unlocked. She turned the handle. “Dinah?” she called out softly. “Dinah, my name is Panacea. I helped rescue you from the bad man, the other day.”  
  
The door came all the way open, and she saw the tub, full of water. The girl, floating face down in the water, brown hair spreading out around her head.  
  
And the blood, thick coils of it, staining the water.  
  
“Oh, shit!” gasped Amy. “She saw us coming!”  
  
Dashing across the bathroom, she fell to her knees beside the tub.  _Noelle will kill me if she hears that I let the precog kill herself._  
  
And then the girl lunged up out of the tub, water spraying, naked, eyes coming open. “Yes,” Dinah Alcott told her. “I did.”  
  
In her hand, Amy saw too late, was a carving knife, long and wickedly sharp. She felt it as it entered her body, just below her breastbone, felt the icy chill of the steel sliding into her flesh.  
  
It slid out again, as she fell over backward. The warm pulse of blood spreading across the front of her body began almost immediately, as she lay, staring up at the ceiling.  
  
 _Fu_


End file.
